Middle of Nowhere - A Fallout Survival RP [RP Underway!]

[Wild Cards]

Jamison Hollow

See in the Dark xxx●xxx Danger Sense xxx●xxx Hacker

[ Wellbeing ] Relaxedxxx[ Company ] Dustrunners, Val, Q, Stellaxxx[ Whereabouts ] The Fission Hole

As though she could feel the eyes of a stranger on her, EVA slowly turned towards the doctor. Confirming her suspicions, she slowly floated towards the man until her mechanical "face" was inches from his own. She then began speaking in her slow mechanical voice. "May I help you, civilian? Do you wish to convey something to me? Or are you seeking conflict?"

"EVA!" Jamison barked from his table, and EVA shrunk away from the man's face. Jamison grinned apologetically at the man and held up his hand in apology, calling out to the man, "I'm sorry about her. She's been without a memory wipe for about a year now, so she's developed a few quirks. Unfortunately, she's a bit acerbic.You'll have to forgive her. EVA! Heel!" he added, snapping at the robot as though she was a dog. Of course, EVA wasn't sentient, but she did have a tendency towards hostility through years of trial and error with humans; she had found that on the wasteland, a default "attitude" of hostility tended to yield higher rates of survival.

EVA slowly floated backwards away from the man. Jamison whistled sharply at her, however, and EVA turned away, almost seeming to sulk as she slowly floated back towards him and came to hover over his shoulder silently, the faint hum of her mechanical parts the only sound that she was making.

"Anyways," Jamison continued, turning back to the table, "why not make the solution simple? If we put a map of the minefield inside one of the buildings in town, the Raiders would have no way to get their hands on it or see it from a distance. It would also minimize the risk of someone losing it. Now, of course, there are still risks, such as if there's a spy in town that we don't know about, or if someone copies the map on a piece of paper and loses it. But it's a risk you run into quite a bit when working with computers - if you boost the security, then accessibility goes down, and vice versa. So the best thing we can do is to try and find a balance."


*Wearing: Roving Trader's Outfit
*Packing: AEP7 Laser Pistol
*Carrying: Nothing

[Bog Lord]

Valentine


Running Doesn't Effect Aim xxx●xxx Fancy Footwork xxx●xxx Survive Wound


[ Wellbeing ] Patched up & tuckered outxxx[ Company ] Everyone in th' bar!xxx[ Whereabouts ] The Fission Hole

The mohawked girl pushed her forelocks from her eyes and smiled at her redhaired friend. "Of course you could come--should come. The raiders harried us into the field today, they weren't waiting around it, but who knows what to expect of them?" More people meant better chances of survival. Stella would know the terrain and could always lead them to a safe vantage point to defend themselves from if it came to it, and she was a keen shot. That would make three look-outs--Byerley, Stella and the eyebot--and leave her and Jamison the task of locating and disabling the mines.

She pitched into the conversation. "That's a smart idea. A master map inside a building would do, either here at the bar or the sheriff's office. I've been pondering where best to set up mines as defenses... outside the Blockade is an obvious one, that's the major road into town, but there are so many ways in and out of Falls Creek..." Valentine leaned back in her chair. The town had no official 'wall,' due to its irregular shape and sprawling layout. The outer defenses were made up of a layer of abandoned old structures with the occasional makeshift platform acting as a watchtower. Threats could easily trickle in. Given a few people with some carpentry skills, the larger breeches could be patched over and the towers fortified, but how much time did they have to do that? "And I guess we'll have to check the perimeter and decide where is best to put down some explosives."

She pondered the defenses another moment, then said, "the mines won't be enough long-term, of course. Stella, has anyone considered fixing up some defenses around town? Do we know where the best places to hole up and fight from are if the raiders do swarm in?"

[ Wearing ] Merc Veteran Outfit, Fresh Bandages
[ Packing ] 10mm Pistol, Switchblade
[ Carrying ] Flashlight

[ OOC ]

[Redneck Messiah]

Silas


Never Overburdened xxx●xxx Anything is a Weaponxxx●xxx Presence


[ Wellbeing ] concerned xxx [ Company ] Princess xxx [ Whereabouts ] Fission Hole

He was drawn to the conversation about the mines. They wanted to mine their own town. Mine their own buildings. Make the place that they called home a death trap to invaders. A good idea, right? Sure. If you didn't mind not having a home worth living in when it was all said and done.

"Tell ya what." He took a swig of his tequila. "Instead of us go'n out there and let'n them pick us off, why don't we make them do the work fer us? It's pretty simple when ya think 'bout it. We find the mines out there, and leave em. Mark their positions with signs. Like they had back in the old days. Ya know. The ones that said, 'Mine Field'." He was talking with his hands at this point. Drawing shapes in the air and what not.

"See. We take them signs an place em 'round the mine field. That way when we get some travelers, they know where to be go'n. Also, it'll piss off them raiders to no end. Maybe they'll be stupid enough to try and sneak 'round at night and move em, or place more. At which point, we get some spotters with a few long range rifles and we pick them off. Turn it around."

He took a shot of tequila. "Regardless of how ya handle it, they're gonna do some'tin diff'rent. When they see they can't get at us with the mines anymore, they'll switch tactics. I'm figur'n it'd be up to us to see their next move and counter it. I ain't 'bout to start making guesses, so we'll leave that fer later. Now, we need to be work'n on defenses that we can handle. Like three eight hour shifts of patrols. Two er three people a unit, wide berth 'round the innner limits of the town. Keep at least one long range spotter in a tower.."

"Now ..." He stood up, taking another long drink of his tequila, and headed to the table where there seemed to be a conglomeration of colored hair and stiffness. "First thing's first, kids. If ya'll are serious about this, defend'n this town, and do'n yer best to fight off them raiders ... Then we can't be let'n em know that we're hurt. We need something ta pick up moral. Not only will that show them we ain't 'fraid of em, but it'll help us when the figh'n starts."

At this point, he held his head high and had a smirk on his face that looked mockingly proud, and took another very long swig of tequila. His voice was oddly eloquent for the normal, rough around the edges speech that usually spewed form the old man's mouth."While those of us here, the few, have possibly dedicated ourselves to the defense of this town, There's a whole slew of civilians out there who are simply waiting for the moment when the raiders attack. With a high moral, with townsfolk who are proud to live here, we won't just have a few dedicated souls to drive off the evils of the wasteland. We'll have an entire town of people who will be willing to raise arms to protect a place that they wish to call home."

He took his bottle of tequila, downed a good three chugs, and came out of it with a big, refreshing, "AHHHHHHHhhhhh ...." He slammed the bottle on the table and looked at one of the pink heads, at this point he really couldn't tell which was which. They both looked pretty cute and he was getting more drunk by the minute. "That's the most I've said. Ever!" Turning around, he jerked his head in a few directions and finally rested his sights on what he was sure was Shawn. "Them bags. They're fer you. Do with em as ya please. But, ya know ... Be reasonable. I killed many a men fer them."

With that, he stumbled out of the door. Well, Not really. He was drunk, yeah. But he wasn't so drunk he was falling all over himself. Not yet.

[ Wearing ] Lightweight Leather Armor, Trenchcoat & Headwrap
[ Packing ] Broad Machete [1], Combat Knife [1]
[ Accompanied ] Princess

[ OOC ] ...

[Misthral]

● See Twice as Farxxx● Danger Sensexxx● Die Hard

Location: Fission HolexxxCompany: Valentine, Q & Jamison. (Plus everyone else around)xxxWellbeing: Focusedxxx

OOC: Toby Leronexxx

Once again Stella was nodding along with the new suggestions, except when she looked up to grab the passing waitress's attention. Before the others had finished their input, the barmaid was back with a nearly full bottle of vodka. "Count your shots," she told Stella as she placed the bottle on the table. Stella just grinned, "I should just pay for the bottle now," she chuckled and put a few caps in the woman's hand. She filled her glass and told the others to help themselves. "Good point about that map. How about this, we put up maps in the community areas. I'd say those are the Fission Hole, Mrs Greene's and the Sheriff's office. Additionally we should keep some copies in the Sheriff's office if people working on our defences need it. But we'll number those copies, keep track of who has them and make sure they are returned each day. That way if one goes missing we'll know and can do something about it." Stella finished her long explanation by downing her shot and refilling the glass. She let that sink in before going on with answering Valentine's question.

"People in this town like to be told what to do. They had the Sheriff for that, but now he is gone." Stella raised her glass in salute to the sorry b*****d who'd burnt to a crisp. "A few of us do what we can, but resources are limited. Me and Shawn were just talking this morning that we need people to come together and come up with some s**t. But I don't know. I think the majority of people will just want someone to sort it all out for them - so basically a new Sheriff." Stella rolled her eyes. Things were probably going to go downhill fast unless people changed their mentality or a new sheriff was picked. All these strangers were probably going to turn out to be a blessing. She'd only been talking to three of them for ten minutes and already they more or less had a solid plan. "I don't think anyone would complain if we just got on with it though. Just as long as there are no accidents." Stella slugged back her drink, but then pursed her lips like she had just remembered something else. She swallowed the mouthful quickly. "Might be an idea to sweet talk the Old man into sharing out his arsenal. Just don't step on his lawn." Stella smiled and shook her head.

'Speak of the devil,' Stella thought as the old man went off rambling. Fortunately not all of his long speech was insensible chatter, there were some words of wisdom there too. Stella didn't bother to interrupt the Old Man since he seemed pretty drunk and probably wouldn't notice. When he rose and left, Stella turned back to the others and grinned. "I want whatever he had. Oooo I should get Angus to hand over some special broo," Stella's eyes lit up, but then she remembered they were having a serious discussion. "Well maybe later. Old man had some ideas eh?"

Wearing: Reinforced Leather Armour
Packing: Hunting Rifle[Modded](stored), Sawed-off Shotgun, Machete, Hunting Knife
Carrying: Canteen, Stimpack [3]

[Babalu X]

Max Burrows
Danger Sense xxx●xxx Hyperesthesia xxx●xxx Die Hard

[ Location ] Max's Shack ==> Fission Hole xxx●xxx [ Company ] Bar Patrons

[ Wearing ] Reinforced Leather Armor xxx●xxx [ Carrying ] .44 Desert Eagle, Hunting Rifle, Combat Knife Ranger Helmet, Cigarette Pack

Max put on his armor, straps his hunting rifle on his back, and picked up the helmet and stared at its eyes one more time. His rough fingers feeling the the bumps, scrapes of the thing. Each mark, collected altogether, told a long story of battle, blood, and death. And the eyes saw them all. They have yet to see more. "The show goes on." He mumbles to himself. he walks out of his shack with the helmet under his arm. He made his way back to the Fission Hole.

He walked in just in time to hear everyone discuss plans on the raider attack. He took a seat behind them and listened as he smoke another cigarette. Around that time the old man, Silas, gives his two cents. Although drunk, he made a lot of sense, surprisingly. Maybe Max would chime in, but, this was their town and they seem to know what they were doing and so far, no plan sounded outright stupid or outlandish. Max would do his part. If they were to take a vote, however, Max was for Silas' idea on the minefield.

[Bog Lord]

Shawn Levesque


Smoothtalker xxx●xxx Presence xxx●xxx Fancy Footwork


[ Wellbeing ] Jus' dandyxxx[ Company ] Anyone at the Barxxx[ Whereabouts ] The Fission Hole

If she wasn't actually asleep, Liliana did a good job pretending it. Shawn decided to leave her alone and try talking to her again later. She'd probably still be for hire, right?

There was a large-ish group collected at two of the tables he turned his attention to. He noticed Stella among the mix, her colourfully-dyed mercenary friend and a bloke in a jumpsuit he didn't recognize. Other members of the Dustrunners weren't far away, having dinner. He caught the end of what Silas was saying and the statement the old man directed his way.

"Oh--the ones in the kitchen? Thanks, I'll put them to good use," he called after the veteran before the front doors swung shut. The three bags of weapons stashed in the kitchen. He'd forgotten about those. I'll take a better look at them later. Passing them out willy-nilly didn't seem like a sound idea, but there was no use hoarding them, either. He'd let the mercenaries have first pick, and then maybe the miners and other townsfolk willing to join combat; they'd make for a decent militia force if they could be convinced to leave their homes. Which shouldn't be too difficult, Shawn reminded himself. It was either stand and fight or be overwhelmed and die. Having a sheriff would make it all the better.

Well, he'd have time to tend to that later. He'd speak to the miners, at least, tomorrow.

He interrupted into the conversation to say, "Speaking of sorting it all out... Silas and I are thinking alone the same lines when it comes to patrols. I just hired Max and Stella, and I'm looking for more gunslingers to pay with caps. The deal is forty caps for a shift, and a full shift's pay if you take down some raiders during an attack if you aren't officially on patrol. And sure, I'll throw in some free drinks." He smiled. His gaze swept to include Valentine and the man in a jumpsuit next to her who he hadn't yet met, the A.Pex mercenary Garen and the two other caravanners--Sadeson and Jamison, Shawn seemed to recall.

[ Wearing ] Bartending Outfit
[ Packing ] .45 Auto [1]
[ Carrying ] [In trouser & apron pockets] Cigarette Pack [1], Rad-X [2], Stimpack [2], 2043B Radio, Cigarette Lighter, Henry's Pocketwatch

[ OOC ]

[Bog Lord]

Timeskip!
It's now 6:30AM.

Mercenaries hired, word on the wing and drinks in their bellies, the people of Falls Creek were able to relax at the Fission Hole till around midnight. They didn't have to head home, but they weren't allowed to stay there--unless they were a Dustrunner with a rented bed upstairs, of course.

The dawn came cold and slightly damp, with a faint fog rolling off the creek to wash across the town. It was still dark and very still, but here and there some houses had a light on. A dozen people were awake, and a few of them were even in the streets despite the gloomy hour. Among them were Ken Roswell and a couple of the senior men who worked the Croaking Canary, off to close down and secure the mine for an indeterminate amount of time. At the Barricade, one of the town youth's shivered in a handmade blanket with a rifle across her knees, her eyes pinned to the empty terrain that lay west of town. There were two other watchers on rooftops on duty, bundled up against the chill. So far, none of them had spotted any movement from their positions.

Missus Greene was awake at the Hotel--she went to bed late, rose early, and napped in the afternoons. The elderly woman had the fire lit within her home and sat at her usual spot before it, her hand at rest on the bony, scarred feline she kept as a pet. It hated near about everyone else in town, so it suited her as a companion.

The captive raider was awake, too, trussed and trapped in what had been a closet at the new Sheriff's Office. He'd finally come around, and the drugs pumped into his system had faded overnight. He strained against his bonds despite the futility, creating quite the ruckus within his confines for anyone who happened by.

The first rays of the sun spread across the rugged land, and the surviving brahmin in pens throughout town lowed to each other. Another day was about to begin.

['Tis an eeeevil cat...]

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

ℚ Bץєяℓy

“I know now that there is no one thing that is true - it is all true.”

Despite his original intent, Byerley didn’t return to his room. Instead, he wished his present company and good night and collected his rifle before heading outside.
He did nothing but walk, eyes peeled and finger on the trigger as he passed buildings and tirelessly circled a mental path once or twice before moving on in a sweeping area check of the town’s main areas.
He passed the sheriff’s office once or twice and hesitated the third time, hastily looking around before contemplating the Raider that had no doubt been locked inside. He wondered if the person was a man with one arm, but didn’t allow himself the curious moment to check.

Others were out and creeping around, prompting the man to consider patrolling a different—less populated—part of the town and his path lead him to the barricade. He gave the younger guard a tentative greeting and offered to take her post until the earlier morning if the chill was getting to be too much for her. Whether she took him up on his offer or not, Byerley kept his own watch at the barricade irregardless of the temperature and the impending dawn, never mind the condensation from the fog beginning to collect on him as though he were part of the rusted vehicle he stood near. He certainly paid it no mind until the movement out of his peripheral vision let him know that the pink-haired mercenary was making her way up the road. He wiped his face on the sleeves of his jumpsuit before checking the rifle. The dew hadn’t made its way into the weapon, thankfully.

[[I hope this works. If not I can edit it.]]

[Hymn Damakos]

Allison "Ally" Steele


Iron Fists xxx●xxx Anything is a Weaponxxx●xxx Fancy Footwork


【 Wellbeing 】 Healthy xxx 【 Company 】 Missus Greene xxx 【 Whereabouts 】 Falls Creek Hotel - Room 3 ⇸ Common Room

xxx
xxx
xxx
xxxIt was rather annoying to have the room in the center hallway, sharing a wall with the restroom, but after a few weeks of living here the woman was beginning to sleep through the sounds of the night. This evening was actually the first night Allison Steele had been able to sleep through without being woken up by someone or something shuffling about. When the early morning sun began to shine through the tattered blinds the blonde stirred in her warm bed. She could feel the cold of the air in her room, but beneath her blanket was another story. Still, the cold bit her face and nipped at her toes that had found their way out from beneath the warm cover. Rolling over once, she finally sat up, rolling her shoulders back and stretching her neck. It was early, she could tell that much, but how early?

xxxMoments later, Ally came walking out of her room and entered the hall. Combing her fingers through her hair as best she could with one hand, the woman carried a simple pair of black slip ons in the other. Walking through the hall and entering the common room, she appeared before Missus Greene in her black polka dotted dress. Eyeing the warm fire, but then mentally debating if she really wanted to 'accompany' the old woman, Ally finally approached the fireplace and sat down beside, on the ground, as she began to slip on her shoes.

xxx"Good morning, Missus Greene,"

xxxAt least attempting to be polite. Ever since the woman's daughter had been dug up and mutilated, she'd been less hostile and more docile. She didn't know the feeling entirely, but she knew what it was like to lose a loved one. She felt for the woman, she really did...

xxxCombing through her hair with both hands now, the haphazard mess of a bob rested just above her eyes as she looked out at the old woman. Once she'd finished, she looked to the woman, then to the fire. Pulling her legs up closer, the blonde sat partially on her hip and tucked her legs beneath her. Her hands reached out to the fire to enjoy it's warmth a bit more. She couldn't afford the extra caps to pay for the morning breakfast offered with her stay, so Ally would instead have to go out and find another means of getting a meal in her stomach. Surely she could find some lonely man to flirt with that would take care of this poor, beautiful young woman, right?
xxx
xxx
xxx

【 Wearing 】 Polka dotted dress
【 Packing 】 Gladius (x2) beneath her skirt, and a sawed off shotgun slung at her waist
【 Accompanied 】 Missus Greene

【 OOC 】 Intro's are always the hardest...

[Bog Lord]

Valentine


Running Doesn't Effect Aim xxx●xxx Fancy Footwork xxx●xxx Survive Wound


[ Wellbeing ] Sore but Awakexxx[ Company ] Byerleyxxx[ Whereabouts ] Stella's Place >> Western Barricade

Valentine had gone from the bar to Stella's not long after the conversation had died down. She had wished her drinking companions a good night and checked in with Alcana that her comrades at the Clinic were alright. The mercenary slept fitfully, her rest was interrupted by harried dreams she couldn't remember. At last, she gave up trying to sleep when it became obvious her pain medication had worn off. Her internal clock gauged it time to get ready.

With care, she applied just enough Med-X from her tiny collection of medical supplies to take the edge off the pain and keep her sore muscles from affecting her performance. She took a long-sleeved shirt from Stella's wardrobe and found a couple of small tools in the process--ones that might be useful in disabling mines or other small traps. She added them to her belt as she pulled on the gear she wore when walking the Wasteland. The ensemble Valentine had put together over time was piecemeal, based around a riot vest [stamped with the A.Pex logo on its back] with other portions of her body armoured in tanned geckohide, leather and thick, dusty denim. She combed her hair back into a short tail, slung on her gasmask and backpack, and gave her weaponry one last inspection.

Before she headed out the door, she stopped to plant a good-natured peck on Stella's forehead, followed by a "hurry out to the Barricades, Fishy!" Valentine got out of swiping range as quickly as she could and locked the door behind her. She passed several people on her way through town towards the Barricade, most of them heading in the direction of the Croaking Canary.

She jogged the final distance to the Barricade to warm her muscles up. Byerley was already there, reminding her, for some reason, of a statue. He had a talent for stillness. She stopped next to him and offered a small smile to the young woman on watch. "Morning. I suppose Jamison and Stella will be along soon." She ran over a mental checklist of what they needed before they left town. She had a pair of wire-cutters and a couple different screw drivers... "We might need a shovel and a little cart or something, in case the raiders buried anything and to bring the mines back. Easier than carrying them. You mentioned last night that you know where to get a wheelbarrow, right?"

[ Wearing ] Riot Vest, Denim, Geckohide & Leather Piecemeal, Gasmask & Fresh Bandages
[ Packing ] Assault Carbine, 10mm Pistol, Brass Knuckles, Switchblade
[ Carrying ] [In Geckohide Backpack] Cateye [2], Hydra [1], Med-X [1], Rad-X [2], Rad-Away [1], Stimpack [4], Flashlight, Small Tools

[ OOC ]

[Wild Cards]

Jamison Hollow

See in the Dark xxx●xxx Danger Sense xxx●xxx Hacker

[ Wellbeing ] Sleepyxxx[ Company ] EVAxxx[ Whereabouts ] The Fission Hole

EVA awoke before Jamison did, her sensors powering back on right at 6:30, exactly as Jamison had instructed his Eyebot companion. She rose smoothly from the dresser where she had been "resting," and she floated over to Jamison, who was still sound asleep, his dirty-blond hair tousled as he had been tossing and turning on his mattress all night. EVA stared down at him for a second before announcing to him, "The time is currently 6:30:12. It is time to awaken."

Jamison stirred and opened one eye at the Eyebot floating above him. He considered her request for a moment before replying. "...G'way." He then rolled back over and buried his face in the mattress, sprawling out on the mattress and sighing contentedly with the relative warmth and comfort the bare mattress provided.

EVA paused for a moment before suddenly powering on her weaponry and zapping Jamison's back with a low-powered laser bolt. It didn't do any damage, but felt as though Jamison was being prodded with a hot iron. The boy yelped and swatted at EVA, who floated backwards easily out of his reach. Jamison glared at EVA. Despite the fact that she was a featureless machine without an actual personality, he could swear that she was acting smug when she said, "I apologize, but my protocols dictate that failure to respond to directives will result in adverse consequences. Do you wish to repeat this procedure?"

"Alright, alright, I'm up!" Jamison growled, sighing as he pushed himself up from the mattress and rubbing his eyes with his palms. If there was one thing he hated, it was having to get up before his natural rhythm dictated for him to awaken. Despite how much he had hated the tunnels of the Metro, at least he could sleep as much as he wanted when he wasn't scavenging. But at least this had a purpose, rather than just wanting to get an early start on the day like the Dustrunners seemed to enjoy. The longer that he spent in bed, the smaller the window to recover the mines was going to get, and he did not want to get caught by raiders next to a minefield.

The young scavenger dragged himself over to the dresser and pulled it open, revealing his clothes. He pulled out the brown jacket that the Dustrunners had given him and slipped it on over the white T-shirt he wore. He did not attach trinkets to the ends of it like most of the Dustrunners, but instead filled the various pockets of the jacket with the tools he used to make his jobs easier. He then pulled on a pair of faded blue jeans, along with thick woolen socks, which he then stuffed into the low boots he wore. Over his neck he fixated a pair of goggles, which he figured would be even more useful today with the potential for shrapnel and dust getting in his eyes. The boy finally attached his laser pistol to his belt with a clip on the side of the barrel before motioning to EVA to follow him.

As he walked down the stairs, he reached into one of his pockets and withdrew a pack of bubblegum. It was a weakness of his, and due to the unique structure of the gum, it was relatively safe to chew without succumbing to radiation poisoning; the case was more dangerous than the gum itself. The gum kept his teeth fairly clean compared to most of the Wasteland, and it also helped to dull his hunger; he doubted he would get anything to eat until lunch. He popped one of the gumballs into his mouth and chewed for a few moments before blowing a bubble, a trick one of the Dustrunners had shown him. Satisfied, he headed out into the low morning sun.

He quickly spotted Val and Q thanks to Val's striking hair, and he strode over to the pair with EVA in tow. As he overheard Val's question, he replied, "Why not ask one of the Dustrunners? I'm sure that they can lend a brahmin to pull a cart, and I know for a fact that they have shovels, trowels, and gloves which could come in handy if we're digging today. Unless you wanted EVA to just blast the mines as she sees them. She could use the work, and it'd keep us all out of danger without anyone important getting hurt," he added with a grin over at EVA, who turned slowly towards him, as though she was glaring at him.

*Wearing: Roving Trader's Outfit
*Packing: AEP7 Laser Pistol
*Carrying: Bubblegum

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

ℚ Bץєяℓy

“I know now that there is no one thing that is true - it is all true.”

Byerley’s stoic expression broke into one of surprise and then sheepishness when the merc brought up the tools he had forgotten. “Oh…” He began, he would have blushed if he could. “I completely forgot the wheelbarrow. I’ll go get that while you two decide what to do. It’ll save the Dustrunners the loss of a Brahmin if things do get rough enough that we have to drop what we’re doing and flee.”
With that, he headed back to the Falls Creek Hotel, jogging lightly then sprinting along the still-hazy road. He found the wheelbarrow by the fence where it had been for who knew how long. He glanced over it and it was as memory said it was.
In need of improvement, the most he could do was bend one of the legs back out the way it should have—and he did so after a sneaky little glance about him to ensure no one witnessed the act.

The wheel, he couldn’t do much for, but it certainly moved along better now that its balance had been restored.
As it thumped along, he paused to go a few feet out of his way to grab the shovel he had left by the Brahmin pens—and the freshly turned earth of one’s grave.
Byerley’s thoughts crept back to the old vendor and he pushed the wheelbarrow along the same path back to the barricade.

”What will you do when you get to California, Mr.Sharp?”
Byerley didn’t respond at first, or even let on he had heard the old man as he stood watch, rifle resting on the crook of his arm as he sat stiff-backed and watched the glowing lights of Vegas, many miles away but still so bright.
He finally looked back.“I will keep an eye on things.”
“I’d hate to tell you this but California’s the last trip I’m makin’. I intend to retire the junk business and live the last of my days as comfortable as possible.”
“Then I will walk back to Vegas.” Q said after a moment’s thought, the old man’s admission he wanted to retire and stop travelling caused the tuxedo-wearing guard to grimace with a touch of sadness. The old man smiled, his dark face a mess of wrinkles and facial hair that everything but his nose vanished into under the faded straw hat. The shadows of the campfire flickering across his face in such a way that even the bright eyes and characteristic nose threatened to vanish from time to time. “You’ve got several years left in you, why don’t you pick up a new trade there? Stay close and keep in touch?”
“I may do that.”
“Falls Creek isn’t the last stop between here and there, you’ve got plenty of time to decide, kid.”

“I will walk back to Vegas.” He repeated, hollowly to no one in particular when the barricade came into view; Valentine, Jamison, and the eyebot were still there. That was promising.
“I’m sorry I forgot about that, I was…distracted and couldn’t sleep.”

[Redneck Messiah]

Silas


Never Overburdened xxx●xxx Anything is a Weaponxxx●xxx Presence


[ Wellbeing ] Not Happy ... xxx [ Company ] Princess xxx [ Whereabouts ] Home >>> About Town

The old man was sleeping as soundly as anyone could. His face was set with a sheepish smile and he was chuckling? It could have been the dream he was having. The beautiful girl who was practically throwing herself on Silas. It could have been the fact that she had a perfect body and he was, at this very moment, exploring parts of her that would make a nun blush. And then, she leaned in for a kiss. As their lips were about to meet, she reached up, grabbed his head, and twisted his face so she could lick his cheek. And lick, lick, lick away she did.

It took a moment of confusion to lay in before Silas realized this beautiful woman was licking his face. "The hell?!" No. That was not in his dream. It was very much shouted in the bleak reality that most wastelanders lived in today. He barely managed to pushed himself up using one arm and fought to open one eye against a single ray of sunlight that was filtering through his window. What he felt was a face that was, literally, dripping wet. And, what he saw was a massive dog standing next to his bed, licking her lips as if she had just accomplished something.

"Dammit!" It a split second the old man was out of bed with a speed that lied about his age. His arm was up and he wiped his face off on his sleeve. Then, something else hit him. His stomach felt like it was going to turn over on it's self. And his head, his head felt like it had a one man band going ape s**t against his skull. He shook his head, not a very smart thing to do, and moaned as he moved towards his personal gun cabinet.

It didn't take long to figure out where his hangover came from. There were two empty bottles of tequila next to his bed and one half full bottle still sitting on the dresser. "Must have been one of those nights." He had a trench coat hanging, and he put it on. Then he decked himself out in a small armory of weaponry. He slung guns on himself like it was second nature. He had three blades by the time he was done outfitting. One, a rather ornate looking Katana that he kept in his grip. The man looked like he was about to take on the entire NCR.

As he stepped out of his front door, he noticed a few people already making the morning runs. Some heading to the mines to get their stuff and shut down. Others heading to barricades so that they could keep watch. He took in a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled. "Let's go." With Princess in tow, or rather in the lead, he began to make his own rounds on the town.

[ Wearing ] Lightweight Leather Armor, Trenchcoat & Headwrap
[ Packing ] .45 Auto [1], 10mm Pistol [1], Broad Machete [1], Combat Knife [1], Flash Bang [4], Grenade Launcher [1], Katana [1], Lever Action Shotgun [1], Pulse Grenade [4]
[ Accompanied ] Princess

[ OOC ] ...

[Babalu X]

Max Burrows
Danger Sense xxx●xxx Hyperesthesia xxx●xxx Die Hard

[ Location ] Max's Shack ==> About town xxx●xxx [ Company ] No one in particular yet

[ Wearing ] Reinforced Leather Armor xxx●xxx [ Carrying ] 10mm Pistol, Assault Carbine, Combat Knife, Ranger Helmet, Cigarette Pack

Despite hardly getting any sleep after leaving the Fission hole last night, Max barely felt groggy. He sat on his bed massaging his temples as the breaking dawn poked the the cracks of his poor interpretations of windows. He poured himself a shot to begin his day, as he often did. Only this day was different. He took another. He didn't sweat raiders at all, but if one was to get lucky, at least he'd die knowing he took two last shots before he went out. Max always felt the reaper was knocking on his door. Sooner or later he was going to have to open it. Even if against his will. As many times he has given Death the finger, he was always prepared for the inevitable day it would come to collect. He has long made peace with the fact that it would be the Wastelands that would help push in that endeavor. Nevertheless, his bullets will scream defiance.

He stood up and began to prepare for his rounds. he put on his armor, strapped on the assault carbine he was able to buy and trade for in town, and readied his 10mm pistol on one hand, the other carrying his ranger helmet. The dawn's light greeted his eyes with a rude sting until they adjusted. All seemed quiet...for now. He went ahead and lit a cigarette and patrolled the town. He also planned to check the barricades just to see how the fellow townies wee doing. At the same time it didn't hurt to be thorough and cover more ground. He heard footsteps ahead of him. He looked in that direction and immediately recognized the seemingly sobered up old man, Silas.

[Sithorn]

Danger Sense xxx●xxx Hyperesthesia xxx●xxx Anatomical Mastery

{ Wellbeing } Bemusedxxx{ Company } - Rickie, Trev, Nadia -xxx{ Patients } Trev - Nadiaxxx{ Location } Falls Creek / Clinic

You might imagine with the respect any biomedical practitioner worth his salt must have for the human liver (and what it is actually there for)- that Dr. Benicio Alcana doesn't exactly hit the bottle all that much. Notwithstanding the lucky streak he has had drinking a respectable amount of the Broo' and never vomiting a Yangtze river uphill from the fission hole to the Clinic, his healthy appreciation for sobriety has become a general tip'o'the'hat to what he has called the Hippocratic oath. If you are going to tell your patients to lay off the sauce, lay off of the sauce. Don't be a Hippocratic Hypocrite.

Generations ago, when he was just 'Blue', he and his friends were much less conservative. This was a good two decades before Angus took up the spatula, and that infernal bathtub or whatever he brews in started sweating ethanol from the inside out. It is actually a fascinating pass-time not uncommon to the towns in and around the commonwealth: The concocting of various borderline toxic micro-brews. Back in the day, the young doctor and his friends found themselves doing a little more than sampling just about all that was on tap from Dead Erie to Scranton.
Those were the days- the roaming days. They were too young and too stupid, with too little to do and a wide wasteland of mountain country to wander in. They would go from settlement to settlement, camp out, record, trade, discover, and get hammered. They were friends, rivals in love affairs (a lot of those), fisticuffs' backups (for the same reasons). Each of them were their own special kind of comedian.
Young faces, which became grown faces, which each in their turn went under the ground before they were old faces.
Now there was just Blue.

Such was the revery swimming at the bottom of the Doctor's Vodka bottle, which he came into his office that morning to find empty on his desk beside two shot glasses. Wrapped in a blanket on his office chair was steadfast Rickie, who was once again steadfastly knocked the hell out. Through the haze of a grey morning, the doctor recollected that she had been wonderful drinking company the night before. After cleaning up dinner and tucking Trev and Nadia in with their Pain killer cocktails- They had gone on to wind away the hours depleting the bottle and trading stories. She proved a wellspring for all the big news out there in the wastes, though her accounts of the conditions in settlements and wild environs began to dovetail into a long series of questions about the good doctor: where he learned his medical practices, just how long he'd been around Fall's Creek, how old was he, the disbelieving inquiries which naturally followed. He remembered she made the comment 'I had you pegged for 29'.
Ponderous choice of words.
For an awkward little while as he told his story, her glances became shifty and glazed, and she drew her chair closer when she thought he wasn't paying attention. He remembers the tingling of his neurosis when she threatened to turn out to be a 'cuddly drunk'.
George was not helpful on the doctor's behalf. He was playing records all by himself, and they were mood-setters.
Benicio was lucky. Rickie, still entirely worn out from the whole ordeal, passed out in the act of leaning on his shoulder.
Thus saved, the Doctor traipsed off to bed and fell into a much needed five hour blackout.

Now here he was, leaning against the door frame of his office and looking in, trying to piece together everything they had spoken about. He was constantly bothered with snippets of the strange dream he had just awoken from. The rough outlines of the dream came together all at once, and quite spontaneously he lost the thread of his recollection from the night before, the dream had been just that absurd.

It was really quite simple:
George the phonograph sat on a round bedside table in a black void, a bright overhead beaming down on it's wide brass horn, which somehow seemed twice and wide and deep as in reality. A vinyl clicked on, and the soft cadences of an opening instrumental began to echo out- delicate strings, low brass, and a sweet flute.
The Doctor new well it was the opening to 'My funny Valentine'
... Then came floating out of the darkness: the Eyebot from Earlier. Floating in an intimate circle around george, she began to project the lyrics in the low call of Ella Fitzgerald. Passing in a circle again as their duet echoed, a long trailing spike from the back of the eyebot caught upon the brim of george's horn, and a tiny cymbal sound echoed out.
Whereupon the doctor jolted awake.

Almost shaking with laughter at the strange image now emblazoned on his mind, the Doctor lightly thumped the back of his head against the door frame, thus pushing away from his torpor and coming to something like total wakefulness. With that awareness came his sense of responsibility, and thus he turned to his charges. That first ray of light which came cold through the east window of the clinic gleamed upon steel tripods, bed rails, and rows of shelves. Slowly creeping across the tarnished linoleum floor, the swath of sun laid long shadows down across the ward. In time the dawn alit upon the beds in the far-west corner where Trev and Nadia still slept. The Doctor was there working before it did.

He checked Trev's vitals. Rf 11m, Bp 124/76, Bpm 61, T. 98.9°F. Excellent.
He delicately adjusted Nadia's sling, and then tucked her sheets.
As he worked he hummed 'My Funny Valentine', and chuckled to himself.


[ Wearing ] Merc Charmer Outfit, Goggles
[ Packing ] Scalpel[1]
[ Carrying ] [In satchel] Gauze [2], Sanitary gloves [2], Thread and needle [2], Local Anisthetic [1], Radaway [1], Epinephrine [1] Walkie Talkie [1]
[ Immediate vicinity ] N/A


[ OOC ] -^- ! erion ecnamor notamotua <---- !-v-