Volare! A Fallout New Vegas RP [currently accepting]

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[Bog Lord]

Valentine

I don't have to be careful, I've got a gun.
I gave it to my amazing robot bodyguard.

The gambler's head turned, and he studied the table in question for a moment before he nodded. With as much grace as any Wasteland could manage, he straightened his tie and said, "I think you'r right. Thanks, have a good one," and moved on.

Valentine snickered again, her face partially concealed by her hands. "Ten years ago I mighta considered that, but I'm grown now," she commented so Q could hear her. "Partying and drinking and the rest isn't really where I wanna be anymore. Come on, Sharp, it is a bit loud in here." They knew as much as they needed to about Freeside, they had a small collection of weaponry to start on, and her mind was bogged down with thought. At some point, the tribal thought, she should probably sleep, too.

There was no chance to talk as they left the Wrangler, nor as they hustled down the slum's streets. Some of the violence had receded as the night drew on, but there were still shouts nearby, NCR coming and going, the Securitrons gliding to and fro. Valentine watched one with a considering look, a wild idea flashing through her mind--would one be missed, if she could disable it and get it away?--but no, it wasn't a serious plot. She breathed easier as they walked through the gate. "I think my bar days're over. Maybe I should take up knitting."

Eugene Mayfield

I could stop at any time, but nobody likes a quitter.

"So I didn't pickle, fry and burn myself out completely. Ain't I a lucky one." Gene rubbed the back of his head, gingerly. He was somewhat pleased to know that he was coming clean, that the fog was lifting and the harshest part of withdrawal was probably over. It would have been worse, considerably worse, if not for Howe's measured administration of chems carefully weaning a body that had been half-soaked in narcotic substances for the better part of two hundred years.

But this was, maybe, the easy part. The hard part would be to remain clean, to find some other outlet for his energies and some other crutch for his anxieties. One step at a time, Gene told himself. He would find things to do around here to keep him occupied and that would help. Dancing and entertaining at the casino hadn't done anything to engage his interests, he'd just existed. At the clinic, the prospects were better. It would be harder to lapse with Howe, Martin and Randal around, too.

"Well, let me know if I can do anything today. If you need the ferals fed I can manage that," he offered.

[Specter Flux]

Well, that wasn't what Martin expected. He watched Gene with mild bewilderment, until it became obvious that the ghoul wasn't going to segue into discussing old forgotten notes or something he'd observed wandering outside. Just dreams. Odd. It was news, Martin supposed. Whatever could he do with it, though. Not much at all. He'd never stopped dreaming himself. At least he didn't think so. Under the influence of Jet his long term memory was blurred but when he slept it all came rushing back. He didn't remember the memories as dreams because they weren't, but they occupied the same space and now that he was off the chems they seemed to merely drift into a more incoherent form. The rambling thoughts weren't as fixed in his head; when he woke he grasped at trailing edges to retain them but the rest simply vanished into nothing. Much like Howe had said.

Sometimes he wondered if his memories had grown the same, from bits and fragments found, only he thought they were real because he had dreamt them so many times.

He smiled under the dust mask at Gene's apparent relief. The ghoul did look better. Not much better, maybe, but better. Less likely to burn out before proving of any use. Martin hadn't really expected him to stick around, and he'd been rather nervous at the thought of Gene vanishing back into the wasteland with knowledge of the lab, but the prospect of having a cooperative ghoul on hand well outweighed that worry. Where would he go, anyway? This had to be better than Gomorrah, and the Enclave had control of that business even if the chems proved too much. Raising the cup of coffee, the scientist felt the rim collide with the fabric over his lower face and cursed inwardly, catching most of the liquid in one hand before it could soak into his coat. Right. The mask. He'd forgotten about the mask.

...he wasn't sick anyway. Pulling it off of his face, he rinsed the scrap of fabric and his hand under the faucet, with a look over his shoulder to Gene when the ghoul offered to work. "Let me scan your brain."

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

~ℚ Bץєяℓy~

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

If he had lungs, Q would have sighed in relief after the gambler had left their company. The stranger seemed to be having better luck with the table the android had brought to his attention, at least. Q looked to Val when she commented on the past, looking confused. “Ten years ago?” That seemed like such a long time…he hadn’t even been activated for ten years and trying to ‘imagine’ such a time was surprisingly taxing on his system. Once they were outside of Freeside, he briefly attempted to consider the short decade once again. Once again, of course, he found himself overwhelmed with the task and returned once again to being on the watch for danger.

The cover of darkness meant that individual human beings and marauding groups of raiders would be easily spotted due to the nature of darkness and his night-vision, His light eyes flickered once in the residual light of the slums flickered across the glass surface. “There’s someone out there, but they appear to be headed toward the ruins. Unarmed, it appears.”

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

♤ Ɍandal Ɇager ♤

"The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice.”

The heat of the day had finally dissipated by the time he had reached New Vegas and started toward the ruins in order to find Vault 3. The cloak was nice and warm at least, even if he didn’t have much further to go. He had been looking forward to the visit at Vault 3, but after seeing the groups of NCR settlers leaving Freeside with their few remaining possession, he felt responsible for the entire thing as he had stood there sweating and watching the small groups drift in different directions; eyes watering from sweat and guilt. These people had come to the Mojave for whatever reason and he had been the one to displace them, whether it was direct or indirect.
Wiping the sweat from his face with his shirt sleeve, Randal sniffled a little and took the fork in the road that lead to his destination.

He did find himself pausing and looking toward one of the Freeside gates, still feeling the regret in his chest. "I'm sorry," the man said to the rapidly cooling air. "I never intended for things to get out of hand." Every action had a reaction, unfortunately, and often they were the one reaction a person never intended to come about. People were being displaced from homes they had crossed the wastes for. They had risked and possibly lost so much and things had to go and wind up the way they did--all over trying to make the streets of Freeside safer for both citizen and outsider alike. "I'm so sorry."

“Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed."

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

♦Ρleasant ɖredd♦

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.”

After a long day of keeping track of reports and keeping things running smoothly above-ground at the Vault to keep boredom and anxiety at bay, Pleasant finally felt he could call it a day and drop wearily onto his cot. In spite of his exhaustion, something seemed off and caused him to give a moments’ worth of pause. Hesitating at the flap of his own tent, Pleasant stood perfectly still, listening to the sounds of the other guards and officers in the ruins. Nothing was out of the ordinary, so why couldn’t he shake the feeling something was waiting on the other side of the tent flap? Wordlessly he drew the ten millimeter pistol from the under-arm holster before opening the tent flap; it was dark in there but as soon as his eyes adjusted he could see there was a dark shape that was out of place in the tent’s interior. The weapon was trained on the figure immediately as he reached for the battery-powered lantern. His fingertips grazed one of the wires, confirming its presence. “You are trespassing in an officer’s tent and you have exactly three seconds to identify yourself before I spatter your ******** brains on the back of the canvas without so much as a single concern as to why your dumb a** was here in the first place.”
His finger began to squeeze the trigger, but the response caused him to trigger the safety. “Lawrence.” Lloyd flicked a lighter, partially illuminating his wry expression. "Bad time?"
If Pleasant was relieved or even happy to see the other man, it didn't last long before his quiet growl dropped even further into a hissed whisper as he re-holstered the pistol. “GOD DAMN IT, LAWRENCE.” Before he continued, he gave a quick glance outside the tent flap and closed it once again. “Are you trying to get me court-martialed?!”

“From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.”

[Specter Flux]

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

"I'm not." Lloyd held the lighter a moment longer before flicking it off, flame going cleanly into the darkness. A bright negative image of Pleasant's face flashed after it, then was lost as well. "It turns out the bunker was destroyed by one of our latest initiates. He must have been a plant from one of the wasteland groups. I'm trying to get more opinions on how this all ties together, and it seemed more strange to avoid you than not." That wasn't entirely the truth. Probably, no one would have noticed if he had ignored Pleasant's existence entirely. He hadn't made it obvious that he was seeking the man out. But surely attempting to contact all the Enclave leaders was still the most reasonable course of action.

One could argue whether Pleasant was a member of that group any longer. Lloyd had no clear understanding of how extensive the demotion was. But the officer was in charge of Vault 3, or at least everyone there appeared to humor him to that extent. There was no reason to assume he was some rank-and-file squad leader. Either way, Lloyd wanted his opinion. Really, Lloyd wanted his company. There was no reason radio contact wouldn't have sufficed for a discussion, beyond his own proximity to Vault 3 and preference for face-to-face conversations. The paladin shrugged, the sort of gesture that read plainly even in the dark. Maybe it was a bad time. He could acknowledge his own misstep. Damn it, Shade. "I'll leave if you want."


The real problem is not whether machines think, but whether men do.

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

♦Ρleasant ɖredd♦

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.”

The gesture or reason for the visit was certainly lost upon Pleasant in the brief moment of his fear and panic. Once he was certain the coast was clear, he calmed down and felt around in the dark before he could get the wires connected and provide a little light. “No…you just, you caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting you to sneak in here so soon—much less just up and walk in like you’ve got business with anyone.” Pleasant said quietly, sitting on the edge of his cot and reaching for the bottle of scotch sitting on the ammo-case at the foot of the cot. “A ******** clever tactic,” The Enclave officer opened the bottle and offering his guest a swig before taking his own, his tone carrying a sense of solemnity despite his choice of words. He had all sorts of thoughts on the matter but he still had the bruised tissue in and around his nose that reminded him that anything particularly too Enclave doctrine in thinking would warrant other punch; he didn’t have the energy to deal with an angry Lloyd. It wasn’t something he’d risk so soon after being on the receiving end of a particularly effective strike from the Paladin, for now he’d keep quiet and let Lloyd steer that conversation. “I take it there’s been some new leads pulled up by Miss Compton. Did she or the others have any guesses on which faction responsible might be?”

"The prime suspects are the Legion and NCR," Lloyd said. "Arguments against: they seem about as clever as a handful of particularly educated rocks." Turning, he sat down next to Pleasant, shaking his head. "I didn't believe the NCR realized we still existed before we retook HELIOS One. I'm not sure I can believe it now. But the Legion has no connections to the Brotherhood at all. If they were behind this it points to a much more sophisticated espionage network than I would have thought possible."
Upon Lloyd’s quiet rejection of the liquor, Pleasant took a quick sip before shaking his head slightly, more in reaction to the unanticipated burning sensation from the alcohol than Lloyd’s response. “ So that’s a ‘No.’ I imagine the ones that would actually speak with you informed you that ‘Enclave matters are not open to discussion with outsiders.’ Correct? This is strictly off the record: The Legion may be targeting the Brotherhood on the grounds that you've allied yourselves with us. We had to respond to their capture of Eager— Cut the head off of the snake-type bullshit—they were crucifying him as a message to the rest of the Enclave." He trailed off to take another swig of alcohol. He really appreciated the man's presence, it was far better than drinking alone, even if he was the only one drinking the alcohol in the first place. Their shoulders were practically touching at this point, as Pleasant had leaned slightly. "When we responded, we struck hard and fast, setting fire to their encampment. Some how, in their primitive minds they saw it fit to go after the Brotherhood once it became apparent they couldn’t pull the Enclave Remnant up by its roots. Not without a ******** fight they couldn't win, anyway. It's entirely likely that the Legion expects us to rip each other to shreds, doing all the hard work for them while they continue to whittle away the NCR's numbers and supplies.”

“From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.”

[[Written with help from Specter. <3]]

[Bog Lord]

Valentine

I don't have to be careful, I've got a gun.
I gave it to my amazing robot bodyguard.

She was quiet, a little bemused by Q's own confusion. "Ten years ago, yeah--I was twenty-four, living in Adytum then. The Boneyard." And she'd been there for a few years by then, having travelled for weeks that merged into months. She hardly thought about that, anymore; the journey or her early career with the Gun Runners.

Valentine peered forward through the murk beyond the gates. It was dark enough by now that if she'd been on her own she would get her flashlight out for the walk back to her house, although generally she was wise enough to avoid being in the Wasteland after dark. Q's presence, however, gave her a lot of security: he wasn't perfect or infallible but they managed well together, and the jaunt homeward was short. She took notice of the android's quiet observation and kept a look out in that direction as they began their walk; as they passed the figure, swathed in some sort of blanket or cloak, she caught just the edge of speech, so soft-spoken that she couldn't hear the words or tone. They weren't directed at her, and it was entirely possible, even likely, the person was just talking to themself. Quiet self-babble wasn't an uncommon sight or sound, especially in Freeside.

That didn't seem quite right, though. While a dealer of merchandise designed to maim and kill she might be, Valentine was no stranger to Wasteland hardship nor was she bereft of compassion. One could be pleasant to others and survive--being nice didn't mean being gullible. A few feet past the stranger, and her steps paused. She could keep walking and ignore him, but what good did that do? Now and then, it was the right thing to stop, give up a few moments of time or some caps.

"You okay there, sir? It's late to be walking around." And, if Q's scrutiny was correct, unarmed while doing so.

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

♤ Ɍandal Ɇager ♤

"The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice.”

Another voice was unexpected; prompting Randal to step aside slightly with a start as he made sure his makeshift hood and stormchaser hat obscured his face, turning away absently. It had been his first thought, as opposed to reaching for one of the two knives hidden inside the blanket cloak; Martin's admonishment of his trusting nature rang in his ears moments later. They weren't hostile, not in the least. Aside from the pale-faced man's wary nature, there really was no indication of tension...but then again he couldn't see the second person all that well and turned again, so he had a better--if only marginally better--look at the speaker. In the light pollution of New Vegas, he could see she had tattoos, a lot of them, on her arms. He couldn't make out the details but they looked Tribal in origin. Not many Wastelanders had that amount of ink under their skin without having some sort of complication arise. She had to have been a Tribal, but her companion appeared unmarked as far as he could tell. It was likely the thick gloves he wore hid his own sets of symbols and lines.
“I’m fine, thank you for your concern. I have nothing of value, so I do not think I’ll be all that much of a target, besides…it’s nice to walk at night, the dogs and coyotes ignore me and it seems the insects hide from the cold air.” The problem with keeping his own face obscured lay largely in the fact that while doing so, he couldn’t see the face of the other person either. “I should probably get back to my camp before something does happen, however."

It didn't take a stretch of the imagination to realize these two were headed from Freeside. From the looks of the feminine voice's companion, they weren't any worse for wear; locals or Freeside citizens, probably. People camped out in the ruins wouldn't be of much interest to them if that were the case. Not many people would poke around the ruins, even in the absence of the Fiends. The thought that they might try to follow him worried Randal. The Enclave, even when posing as Wasteland Settlers were hostile when unidentified people wandered into established perimeters, not to mention they had Gutsies patrolling the ruins at night.
It would end poorly for them, and he didn't want or need that on his conscience. "Freeside has gotten so dangerous lately and at times I’m worried it may spill out into the ruins...and I'll get in trouble if any of it follows me home.”

“Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable; they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed."

[Specter Flux]

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

"That clarifies things," Lloyd said. He wished he would have known the extent of what had happened sooner. It wouldn't have helped, in the end, not at all, but it gave the Legion motive beyond expansion. They had never really clashed with the Brotherhood of Steel before. "They wouldn't have had a chance to infiltrate your ranks."

"No, they wouldn't. We're not exactly accepting applications for Enclave citizenship. In that regard we are more closed off than the Mojave chaper Brotherhood - I wasn't even aware you people took outsiders into your ranks."

Perks of being genetically exclusive, Lloyd supposed. No one could sneak in on talent, and the right blood was hard to come by these days. He would have thought it detrimental, in most cases, but here at least it had paid off. "It's more abnormal that we haven't been. Before things went south with the NCR we never had a problem bringing in worthy individuals. The standards were a little strict, maybe, but it wasn't strange for wastelanders to join us." They'd even traded with each other, just not in advanced technology. That had to be treasured and protected before knowledge of it was lost entirely. Most wastelanders didn't even understand laser weaponry.

Pleasant raised an eyebrow and swished the remaining alcohol around in the bottom of the bottle. Either he had drank a lot in a short amount of time, or there hadn't been much to begin with. "So hostilities from the NCR and the defeat at HELIOS is the entire reason the Brotherhood went underground and hid under a dustcloud? Seems like you bastards would have had a better fighting chance what with being based here unlike the Enclave."

Lloyd shook his head. That was the simplest way to view the situation, and it was almost entirely wrong not because of its statements but its implications. "'Entire reason?' HELIOS was our last major stronghold. We went underground because they were winning." They might have started with a better fighting chance but they hadn't ended with one. Lloyd wasn't sure why. Maybe they hadn't taken the NCR seriously enough at first. In the end, sheer force of numbers had proved more important than any of them liked to remember.


The real problem is not whether machines think, but whether men do.


[[This post brought to you in part by Timewise.]]

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

♦Ρleasant ɖredd♦

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.”

Oh. Oh that was ******** stupid of him to say. It really had been the case that he drank a lot in a short amount of time without diving it a second thought. The realization was apparent when he rubbed his forehead and leaned forward to set the bottle on the ground by his feet. No more, God what a dumbass move. “I didn’t mean it like that—well, I did but it…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck close to the start of the still-healing wound in his shoulder. It was bothering him again after he tried to lift the ammo case earlier that day. “It never occurred to me that the Brotherhood was on its last legs after Helios, that Hidden Valley was a last desperate attempt to conserve numbers. I had always thought that the bunker was a tactical choice to force them into a bottleneck as opposed to literally the only ******** thing you could do to escape defeat.”
Perhaps he should have remained silent, watching Lloyd and expecting the Paladin to become angry. Even nearing a drunken state he could tell the comment had almost touched a still-raw nerve. “Sounds like Navarro. I—we—still don’t know how they did it but they scattered ups like ******** bits of paper. They’re stupid, I don’t think they’ve even made any use of the equipment and tech that was abandoned in the retreat, but they managed to beat the forces there.” That was before his time, same with the Oil Rig’s destruction, but it was always so strange how the Enclave could be brought to its knees multiple times by small groups or individuals. Why was the NCR’s victory at Navarro so hard to understand then? The NCR was and still is larger than a handful of individuals; it frustrated him to no end how the reports had little detail about their loss.

“From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.”

[Bog Lord]

Valentine

I don't have to be careful, I've got a gun.
I gave it to my amazing robot bodyguard.

The tribal pondered why the stranger was so amply covered--surely it wasn't that cool or that dusty out? Well, unique customs abounded, and she wasn't going to pry. "I really hope it doesn't, the ruins are dangerous enough. Have a good night, and safe travels. C'mon, Mister Sharp."

The Mojave air was invigorating in a way the Wrangler's stuffy confines hadn't been, and she took several deep breaths as she and Q resumed their walk. She really had changed, or maybe just grown up, since once upon a time she hadn't been able to get enough of citylife and now she found it almost repellent. Q's company, limited though it was, proved to be enough to keep Valentine from loneliness. It was still pleasant to see other friends, like Lawrence, or make new ones here and there, but she didn't feel the old compulsion to go sit at a bar, drinking and socializing with those she didn't know but could find familiarity among. It was too much like idling when she wanted to be on the move in some way, moving forward, realising goals and achieving them. It helped that she didn't have to pursue her plots and schemes solo. Q was really quite the enabler, even if he didn't mean to be.

Once they reached home, Valentine stopped at the edge of walkway that led to the front door. "We should see to the brahmin for the night, then I was thinking of going over the weapons haul before bed. We'll probably just stay in tomorrow so I can finish up with the Runners, but I'd really like to move out of here sooner than later... but I'm not sure where." She studied the house, a decent enough place honestly, but no longer suitable. Too close to Freeside, not able to be secured well enough. Maybe she could sell it for some more caps but more realistically they'd pack what they needed and leave, and someone else would creep in at some point a few days or weeks later.

Eugene Mayfield

I could stop at any time, but nobody likes a quitter.

Gene looked both a little askance and a little amused at Martin, feeling a surge of relatability toward the young scientist in that moment of blunder. It was just the sort of scatterbrained thing he'd have done, at age twenty-eight or one-eighty-two and beyond. "Sure, any time you want, just let me know. I'd like to see how my graymatter is going now that Howe's got me weaned down. I don't know if I could ever get off the Med-X--the other stuff was just because, but the Med-X was to keep the old hurts away." He patted one hip for emphasis, where an old bullet wound would likely plague him till the end of his days.

"Maybe you can advise something more suitable, though, huh, Doc?" Gene inquired of Howe. "D'you want me to take down any notes from this procedure? I can do dictations, with a typewriter. You talk, I type, works great." He picked up the second mug and brought it over to the Follower.

[Bog Lord]

Selene Devereux

Espionage, for the most part, involves finding a person who knows something or has something that you can induce them secretly to give to you.
That almost always involves a betrayal of trust.

In the aftermath of the Enclave's plot, which left the King's headquarters firebombed, Freeside in an enraged panic and the NCR completely baffled, Selene experienced little peace. None, in fact: what had begun as a temporary position became a secure one as she moved from reception to secretary for the ambassador. The woman she'd been sent to replace was back managing the front desk, but the influx of work was too much for one person any longer. The reception buzzed with citizens arriving with complaints and questions, the ambassador himself was bogged down with a constant stream of reports from MPs on the Strip, soldiers from Freeside, and orders and demands from McCarran. Amid this, Selene naturally took up a position as Crocker's right hand, even though it meant an ongoing headache and subsisting on coffee and a lot of spiteful thinking.

Most of that was directed at her brother. He'd gone overboard, of course, and now she got to deal with the results. It was chaos and confusion for a solid couple of days before the NCR began to stop questioning what had happened (rather, pin down someone to blame) and tried to actually deal with it--slow to process and respond, as always. Working so hard for the NCR didn't give her a lot of time to report to her true superiors, but it did give plenty of opportunity to learn what the Republic's brass was considering and doing.

Like a report that came in from McCarran, from a research assistant named Keely who worked for a Doctor Hildern. She skimmed the document in a free moment, and didn't care for the contents, for what it would mean to the NCR and for what it would do to the Enclave. For several long minutes she sat with the document hidden beneath her desk on her lap, eyes riveted onto nothing in particular and her face a touch pale.

This had to get to Crocker, obviously, and it didn't matter much when since other reports would undoubtedly be sent to other officials. But her loyalties demanded priority action. Quietly, while the ambassador was out of his office scarfing down a late dinner and trying to soothe terrified NCR civilians at the same time, Selene slid the folder away in a filing cabinet before she strode into the hall for the supply closet. It seemed a bit risky to radio in while there was so much activity, but what else was there for it?

She had to warn the rest. It couldn't be stopped now, the knowledge was out, but they could be warned. She tried to keep herself composed but her heart had begun to beat strong and fast, her hands a little shaky on the doorknob. In a few minutes, the spy turned secretary was kneeling before the radio, properly tuned in and speaking as softly as she could. Her only option was Vault 3, and while she hoped she would get Eileen a comm officer responded instead. After her person was confirmed, Selene relayed about Keely's report and its contents. Then she signed off and hoped she had been ahead of the game this time.

With nothing more for it, Selene went back to her desk.

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

- ӈangman ӈowe-

“In my beginning is my end…”

Howe grumbled something in response, having gotten as much of the blood in jars as humanly possible. It would have been nice to stumble across an old morgue that retained most of its equipment but those had been raided long ago for their chemicals and instruments that were, undoubtedly, used for alternate purposes; torture and poisoning. He made the best of it however, laying the ribcage bare to get a better look at how things looked on the inside. They weren’t much better and he was lost in his own thoughts until Gene stood within his peripheral vision and proffered the coffee mug. He wasn’t much for coffee…that is, with other people around even if he had mastered the whole food and drink thing in spite of the fact that he was missing a good chunk of skin and muscle from one side of his face.
He motioned for it to be set a safe distance away from the dissection taking place and muttered an appreciative line for the thought even if he was still preoccupied with the task. He spoke over the cracking of ribs, not once looking up. “Could take some notes at present but th’condition this guy’s in might not be worth it.” He cut something free and held it out. “Heart’s outta shape an’ looks discolored somethin’ fierce.” He thought of feeding it to the mutant cat that no doubt lurked on the other side of the door Gene had closed, but it was likely that traces of chems might remain in the tissues. The last raider's part he had fed her didn't appear to have any detrimental effects, but there was no telling if it'd build up and cause the animal's behavior to become erratic. On top of all of that, those around the clinic seemed to have become quite attached to Mutie's presence.

“When here and now cease to matter.”

~ℚ Bץєяℓy~

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

The cloaked-stranger acted suspiciously, but as far as Q could tell it was the sort of uneasiness displayed by something that felt it could be backed into a corner at any notice. He had just finished hoping Val didn’t offer to walk the stranger home when the Tribal said her last piece and wished the figure—definitely male in voice and the facial features he could distinguish in the deep shadows all thanks to his night-vision—safe travels. Making their way back would have been difficult despite the partial moon providing some light for the wide-open spaces, even still there were too many pools of shadows and crevices that a human being might overlook and that would be their last mistake. The same challenges faced the man as the ruins held more than their fair share of holes and hiding places. However, as he left there didn’t seem to be any worry in the walk. In fact, it seemed a little authoritative and less slouched than when they had approached him.

“Very well, I’ll tend to them.” He had no concept of fatigue after all and could do more of the heavy lifting involved with refilling the stock tank. Once the needs of the Brahmin had been tended to, he returned to pose the question he had wanted to ask before volunteering for the work. “Where would you move? Here aren’t many safe places that are close to communities. If it isn’t raiders…it is hostile wildlife.” It seemed like a delayed reaction, perhaps suggesting something was wrong with his wiring again, but that being said he perhaps allowed himself to follow up with a suggestion. “However, most people don’t have a sentry to keep an eye on things in their absence or during the night.”

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

[Specter Flux]

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

Dredd just couldn't let it go, could he? Lloyd didn't want to talk about being driven underground by the NCR. It was nothing but ancient painful history. None of it could be changed no matter what snide comments an outsider might offer. And still the Enclave officer kept running his mouth in some kind of attempt to apologize. The alcohol was getting to him, clearly. How much had been in that bottle to start with? The paladin watched him as levelly as he could. It wasn't the sort of thing to snap over even if the subject touched a nerve. Dredd didn't know the history of the Mojave. He hadn't even been criticizing the Brotherhood, only expressing surprise at some warped view of events.

Lloyd reached over to pat the man's shoulder when he brought up Navarro. He had thought there would have been more certainty there, some kind of understanding of what had gone wrong. Maybe it was just that no one had been ready for the damn NCR. Picking up the bottle, he watched the remaining liquor spark briefly in the electric light before tilting it back.


The real problem is not whether machines think, but whether men do.

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

♦Ρleasant ɖredd♦

“Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice.”

Pleasant looked at him with a sort of hazy look as Lloyd knocked back what had to have been half a shot glass’s worth of liquor. “I’ve had too much, I’m running my mouth like a ******** idiot…a change of subject would probably be the best thing before I say something else that’s idiotic.”
The Enclave officer then fell silent and glanced toward the tent flap. Something had caught his attention even if he was nearing a state of drunkenness.
“Dredd, there’s someone here to speak with you.”
The reply was short and flat, almost identical to the tone he had used when speaking of Navarro. “Tell them it’s too late to be bothering me.”

“He says it’s important-” The soldier didn’t have much time to finish the sentence before the tent flap was opened and someone stepped in. Pleasant was in mid-motion of standing as if ready for a fight of sorts, but when the hood was removed he simply stood there, his hands useless at his sides as Randal removed the hat that had also served to mask his identity further. Randal flashed the two men a half smile before speaking to the soldier outside of the tent. “Go on. If there are any repercussions, I will take them on myself.” He looked worse for wear with the bandages around his throat, looking for all the world as if it were the only thing keeping his head in its proper place in spite of the usual expression he wore. The entire thing seemed surreal through the blurry lens of old scotch.

“From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire.”