Volare! A Fallout New Vegas RP [currently accepting]

Geiger–Müller counter says:

+1 rads	100.0%	[ 228 ]
Total Votes:			[ 228 ]

[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.”

The scientist seemed to like things that would be distressing to any other person in their right mind. Randal never really forgot that but sometimes he found himself wondering if it had been an incorrect assumption before Martin would say or do something that put it back firmly in its place. The man had certain…questionable…interests, but it wasn’t Randal’s place to judge him for that.
“I wouldn’t think that radiation and FEV would work on plants in the same way it does animals.” Then again, he didn’t know much about that sort of thing beyond what his time as an Enclave soldier has allowed him to observe in addition to the few glossings of the Vault Dwellers’ survival manuals. “I take it you’re going to be taking some time to look into those matters; otherwise you probably wouldn’t have collected samples.”
The flowers and leaves always wilted so soon after being cut, he remembered that his mother eventually stopped taking flowers from the massive gardens kept in the deeper levels of the Vault. Their dried little husks rustled like paper in the trash container and sometimes he had delighted in crumbling the dried flowers up and throwing the handfuls like confetti. “Especially not something that seems to be so time sensitive, but if more samples were sent to other scientists I imagine they’ll be looking into things as well. Speaking of the other locations, I think I’d like to go pay Pleasant a visit at Vault 3.”

He expected some protest from Martin, but he wouldn’t allow it as he stood from his own chair to wash his mug in spite of the permanent ring in the bottom of it. “I should be okay going by myself. I know the way; I can take a rifle and ammunition so I'll be safer than travelling without. I’m more worried about the heat than anything.” And the scorpions. It was an unspoken statement that the monstrous creatures frightened him every bit as much as the bloat flies and the ants. They had the moment he had first spotted them and years later, they continued to frighten him. Anyone in their right mind would be frightened of things twice their size--especially things that had been, centuries before, quite insignificant in their smallness. Now, it seemed the shoe was on the other foot and the insects weren't the small ones anymore.

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

~ℚ Bץєяℓy~

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

The android took the heavy book, giving it a critical once-over. It was good the bombs had dropped when they did, otherwise the book would have been severely out of date and good for nothing else beyond fueling a campfire along the desolate trails of the Wastes. “Indeed it might.” Even if they couldn’t build a motor the chapter over suspension systems—if it was still in the book itself—would prove invaluable when it was time to figure out how to keep the axels from snapping on unfavorable terrain such as pitted, crumbling roads that seemed to run between settlements built in the ruins of major towns and cities.
At first Q didn’t realize Val was talking to him; she seemed to talk to everything, so it was hard to tell unless his name was spoken at any point. He glanced down at his leg, no worse for wear than the Tribal seemed to think before he looked back to her and shook his head. “No, I’m fine. It’s nothing more than a puncture wound and it will seal itself in time.”

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

[Specter Flux]

Martin responded with only a brief smile to Randal's initial comments. No, he didn't think FEV would work on plants. He hadn't tried it, but their cell structure was very different and FEV didn't even affect many animals. You had to modify it, most of the time. Radiation was another story. That affected DNA the same no matter what creature it had come from, but of course on a larger scale the process was too random and the starting points too different to expect the final results to align from a few generations in the wasteland. If you irradiated enough wasp and ant eggs, you could reasonably anticipate that some of the adults would have a few extra limbs. Carrot seedlings wouldn't. Not until a few more rounds of selection, anyway.

And, perhaps the question didn't revolve around plants at all - the main pathogen was clearly a fungus and while it might have been hybridized it was also possible that plants had simply colonized the immobile bodies opportunistically. The leafy growth that covered the spore creatures looked much the same as what had covered the surfaces of the Vault. Martin was more interested in whether what was left of the human nervous system had been co-opted by the disease. Otherwise, he was back to his initial suspicion that the creatures communicated through chemical signals. That was far more common than advanced mental capabilities. Even bacteria did it...

The scientist frowned when Randal mentioned leaving. The man had only been attacked a few days ago; surely it wouldn't hurt to lay low for a while. Now that the Fiends were gone, walking to Vault 3 was likely safer than returning through Freeside, but there were still people out there who would do him harm. And the wildlife, of course. Martin considered that much less of a concern but if Randal blacked out or wandered somewhere lightheaded things could go badly. "You should take someone with you." He couldn't insist Randal was too weak to travel; that was obvious nonsense and the man would just get stubborn. Martin didn't want him to leave, though. That last statistically irrelevant attack had been stuck in his head and he was already feeling the urge to go over the wasteland with a fine-toothed comb. Straightening up, he folded his hands behind him, staring off into a corner of the room. "See an Enclave doctor?"

[Bog Lord]

Valentine

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

She couldn't help but look somewhat unconvinced, eyebrows a touch too high and lips pulled down a little at the corners as she said, "alright, let me know if it changes." It was difficult sometimes to accept that the damage he experienced would mostly heal on its own unless it was severe, but Valentine was both a worrier and a fusser, never quite able to leave such things be. Her own body bore several scars that would likely not have left such noticeable marks if she had disturbed them less during their healing. She resisted the urge to insist Q let her inspect his rad scorpion sting, and went to take a seat on the couch again after she had collected a notepad and pencil from her workbench.

The tribal was silent for several minutes, not writing anything down just yet. If she sat too long like this, and let her thoughts stray too far, she might realise what a lofty goal this whole idea was, and how improbable; but the idealist in her fought back against that. What had she to lose by trying, anyway? The Runners were going to leave, she was almost completely certain. Business had gone from bad to worst since they'd come to the Mojave.

She wasn't going with them. Valentine didn't hold too many fond memories of Adytum or the Hub, and while life might be different or better with Q, she had found a lot of comfort in the desert surroundings so alike her own homeland. No, despite the dangers the continued to pile up, she had confidence she could forge a life here apart from the Gun Runners, and continue to work as she had for the past several years as an armsdealer. On a reduced scale, certainly, but it would be enough to sustain her.

"So," she finally addressed Q, "we have our idea and a major part of it sitting out there, ready to be worked on. I don't know if this is really a great place to do it all, though. I lack a few things that might be useful." She kept on, and didn't pause--much. "Asimov might have them."

[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.”

Martin’s sudden detached response surprised him more than any protest would have, clearly he was taking it better than anticipated. Randal gave the scientist a smile of reassurance. It wasn’t out of his way… “Of course. I don’t think it would be much of a stretch to see one at Vault 3. Hopefully they have one on hand at the moment. I mean—I understand they’d have one on hand but they could be pretty busy with other soldiers.” …although it would be an inconvenience. He hated being poked and prodded, especially with cold instruments and the Enclave’s were as icy cold as they come in the Wastes. He watched the other man stare into air above his head for a few moments, smiling once more but with a touch of worry. In spite of the concern that always comes from the other man’s end of things, it wasn’t always one-sided. He worried for the other just as much at times, sometimes for different reasons.
Sometimes, it was the man’s morals, sometimes it was the man’s well-being. Right now, it was his tendency to self-neglect as though he were some inhuman thing that can run on nothing at all. “Are you going to be alright here? Will you remember to eat, bathe, and sleep as regularly as the compromised life the Wasteland forces us to live allows for? I don’t think the Wasteland Doctor will be a mother hen and remind you.” Perhaps he should stay, or at least try to hurry back a little more quickly in order to be able to be present when Martin made the day mark in his self-neglect. “Promise me and I’ll promise you that I will seek out a doctor once I reach Vault 3, Martin.”

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

- 'BT'-

“Courage is often lack of insight, whereas cowardice in many cases is based on good information.”

The sudden reassurance received a raised brow and a silent look before BT shook his head lightly. He couldn’t take that job alone—he could but it wouldn’t be right. “We’ll be doing this together when the time comes. You’re the one with a bigger more personal beef with them; it’s just a deeply in-grained sense of duty on my part.” At least the laughed later on.
“Play it up, entertain them and keep them listening. Maybe they’ll tune in again to find out if I got out of that supply closet or if you’re only letting me out for the occasional snack-break.”
The conversation took a serious turn one more, apparently as he watched the smile fade, his own flickering out in unison, practically. It obviously meant a lot to her, the request, and he made a gesture he normally wouldn’t. He put a comforting, albeit hesitant and shaking hand, on her shoulder. He even offered a fleeting look of sympathy before it was clear he seemed nervous as if crossing some barrier. “Right. I’ll keep an eye-out but the last time I checked there was a Follower taking in the kids she could find, trying to do better for them than the streets of Freeside could. They’re good; I’ll report on everything I notice.”

“Apparently there is nothing that cannot happen today.”

~ℚ Bץєяℓy~

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

“I’m fine, I assure you.”
He wasn’t something as frail as a human being, the venom—while it may have stripped a sort of protective coat from the metal of his skeleton—did nothing. In fact, if he left it alone, it would reseal in a few hours. He just had to keep Val from poking at it too much. “I will be sure to report in with any changes.” He finally relented, remaining in place as Val sat in silence, clearly giving things some consideration. The android remained in place, waiting, but it wasn’t a problem for him. When the pink-haired tribal spoke again he looked at her, detecting the pause and its implications. As much as he didn’t enjoy the presence of the other machine, it was certainly true that Asimov would have access to the tools and supplies more easily accessible than they happened to have. Unfortunate a fact as it was.
“Perhaps he would have things, or at least be able to shed light on the location of a reliable source of these tools and materials.”

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

[Bog Lord]

Valentine

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

"I don't have what I'd need here, and Freeside isn't any good. I even go for groceries from Westside because all you can get in Freeside is bugs and pre-war packaged stuff--" the tribal was in the midst of elaborating to Q when a knock on her front door interrupted her. She looked at the entry in surprise: who was it? She was a visitor, not the host, when it came to most of her social contacts. When the knock came again, she rose, and went to answer it, her pad of paper and pencil left unwritten upon on the coffee table.

"Isaac, hey," she greeted the man at the door, after she had cautiously opened it an inch or two to check. She let him inside.

"Hey, good to see you're home. And you're friend is here," her coworker said, seemingly surprised to lay eyes on Q, but he continued to speak. "You're needed at the compound, we've got a meeting. It's important."


Valentine asked, "right now? Who's there?"

"Everyone--manufacture, security, sales. C'mon." Isaac waited at the door, almost impatient.

Valentine glanced down at herself, still in Wasteland-wear replete with road dust and sweat. "Go on ahead, I'll be right there." When he didn't move, she added in irritation, "I'm just going to change, I'll be there." Isaac nodded and left, and the tribal went to her room to throw on fresh clothes. She emerged in clean hand-stitched shirt and jeans mended at both knees, and went to put on her weapon-laden belt. She never traveled unarmed, even short distances. "Duty calls. I'll be back soon, you wait here. The guards wouldn't even let you inside, probably, the jerks," she muttered to Q before she left.

Roy

This time I'll be a little smarter,
I'll push myself a little harder

Roy nodded in gratitude, and stood still as his hand reached out. It was strange to accept such a consoling gesture from someone else, as she was used to being the one to provide such support. Being a King, and setting up a reputation as someone tough and capable, tended to put a damper on people's affections, as they either thought you didn't need them, didn't want them, or they were too intimidated. It was a sweet gesture, his look sympathetic, and she found that words didn't come easy. They fell flat. "Thanks, really. I figured the Followers would step up, but they can only handle so much."

She dropped her eyes, abashed, and her gaze roved the desktop and settled on a small rectangulat shape she recognized. Roy plucked up the cigarettes and offered them to BT, saying, "these won't do me any good, don't forget 'em." She continued to study the equipment on the desk and about the room... "Before you go, let's just do one more run down of all this so I don't forget." She had a decent enough memory but under pressure, who knows if the procedures would stay in mind? Roy jotted down a few notes at BT went over how to manage the radio operations one last time. At the top, she wrote 'mic = paperclip' and underlined it.

There was a momentary silence, then. "Well, Bos, I guess it's time for you to get in that supply closet, huh?" Roy asked in a light tone. He might as well get going while he had daylight to see by. She was as prepared as could be and he had a serious task to oversee; there was no use putting it all off any further. "Safe travels."

[Specter Flux]

That concession made Martin feel so much better. He had little doubt that one of the doctors would agree to look Randal over. There was no good reason to refuse. Only wasteland medical personnel had ever checked up on him after the attack. Well, and Martin himself, but he wasn't exactly qualified to do much other than change bandages and offer awkward consolation after nightmares. At least the injuries looked to be healing properly. He hadn't seen any worrying signs once the initial inflammation had died down. With any luck the man would come back with a clean bill of health. In retrospect, the Med-X and mental anguish might have done far worse than the physical damage.

Not so easy to deal with those things, unfortunately. The cure wasn't as simple as antibiotics and rest. Nor did Martin know how to begin discussing it - or even whether he should - it seemed too much like prying, like maybe he shouldn't ever have wondered to begin with. It wasn't nice to have someone else dissecting your mental state. But Randal was looking better. The discussion that morning had been far more in his usual optimistic tone. That was one of the reasons Martin hated to keep him at the lab. He was back to being driven and outgoing, at least for the moment. Shutting him away to mope would be downright cruel.

The path to Vault 3 wasn't as bad as Freeside. Martin had to keep that in mind. Not once had anyone threatened him on his way back and forth from the lab. Now that the Fiends were gone and the Enclave were in control of the area, the odds of it happening were even slimmer. Now all they had to worry about were foolhardy raiders or the occasional traveler. Maybe those were just as likely to be dangerous as the average Freesider - Martin doubted it but either way the truth was there weren't nearly as many around. You could stand outside often enough and not see a single soul.

His brows furrowed slightly as Randal continued. Eating and sleeping seemed an odd topic to introduce. Admittedly, he did skip meals when he was alone, but he caught up on them eventually and he was still kicking around despite it. It had only been a real concern when circumstances actually prevented him from eating... He was about to protest as much when it struck him that Randal seemed genuinely worried, then he was flushed warm inside and fighting to keep expression from his face lest he crack completely into manic happy laughter with the realization that someone actually cared for him that way.

"I can't promise sleep," he hedged. "Even at Raven Rock I couldn't promise sleep. I get distracted." Normal waking schedules had never come easily to him. They were just arbitrary things, eventually superseded by less arbitrary things, and without other people to set his habits by, it was all too easy to work through the night. Sometimes ideas wouldn't let go. Looking back to Randal, he let the barest hint of emotion show through in a smile. "But I'll take care of myself. A little tiredness won't hurt." It wouldn't, would it? He faltered slightly when the implications of the exchange struck him. Perhaps he should be saying goodbye instead of expecting a brief absence. "Are you coming back?"

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

~ℚ Bץєяℓy~

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

The android nodded in agreement about the less than ideal location. It would be hard to run power cords out to the beaten garage that slouched several feet from Val’s shack, even if the Tribal possessed the equipment they would need. “I don’t suppose our location is ideal.” He picked the paper pad up by one of its pages, not terribly surprised to see that nothing had been written but still looking slightly baffled none the less. He was only half listening by then, but he did catch enough to know she was complaining that the nearest location didn’t have the things they would need either. It seemed as though they would have only the Del Rey to rely upon for the time being—the knock at the door interrupted anything he could have thought to say in response and he dropped the writing pad back on top of the pile almost as soon as he had picked it up, giving the arrival a blank look as he did so.

Gun Runner business didn’t quite concern or interest him as he knew he wouldn’t be let into the compound on any circumstances, even on the grounds that he technically served as Val’s bodyguard. Q remained where he stood, still staring down at the books and magazines while Val shuffled through things and got ready. “I will wait here for you.”
It went without saying, but it seemed that a lot of people still needed to hear those sorts of things—as evident in their tendency to say them themselves as well.

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

- 'BT'-

“Courage is often lack of insight, whereas cowardice in many cases is based on good information.”

BT took the package of cigarettes gratefully, tucking them into his vest pocket after putting an unlit one in the corner of his mouth before giving Roy a last-minute run-down of the Radio station’s controls.
It was time to go and apparently Roy knew it before he did. He blinked at her before grinning sheepishly and gathering his pack. “It is. With as long as the mic’s cord is, you could probably play it up by rattling the door, if you wanted to.”

The heat of the day was already searing, the sun-bleached ribcages of unidentified organisms seemed to ooze in the heat wave as BT made his way down to level ground as quickly as he could. He would be easily spotted from the road if he didn’t make an effort to get into the small foothills and that wouldn’t help the trip go smoothly if he had to outrun any sort of Wasteland wildlife or hostile parties. He almost tripped and tumbled down to the road that climbed its way past the crater, but he managed to stay on his feet and slid a little, sending bits of rock and sand down the incline.
Need to be more careful, he told himself, or he’d never make it no matter how important it was that he succeed.

“Apparently there is nothing that cannot happen today.”

[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.”

“I should be back unless Shade has any ideas as to where I should be. Right now, he’s probably just glad I’ve disappeared for the time being.” The thought brought a brief smile to his face despite the serious tone and his mind switching back to Martin’s apparent self-neglect while he found a couple of food items to take with him should he get stuck out in the wasteland for a day. He’d need more water than he’d need food. “I have to…otherwise someone might find you at your desk half-dead and out of your mind; sleeplessness breeds mistakes and in your line of work you cannot afford to make mistakes, Martin.”
It should have gone without saying, but Randal couldn’t help but to bring it to the forefront again—whether or not Martin knew that fact already. “You may be able to come up with different ideas and creative solutions… but eventually things are going to begin to slip. Details will escape notice, you’ll get sloppy. Please promise me you’ll put more consideration into getting a decent amount of sleep even though you do not feel tired.”

Pausing, he stared thoughtfully up at the cabinet above the coffee pot, wondering if there may be containers to put water in. “I suppose I can’t force you to do so but I hope you consider it for the sake of the men and women here as well as yourself.”

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

[Specter Flux]

Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

"You're charming enough," Lloyd said lightly. "I'm sure a lot of people prefer you to Dredd." Whether that really meant anything was another story; they were likely to feel less threatened by Eileen but that might also mean they'd pay less attention to her. The resentment itself probably wouldn't get much better. It was too bad. Maybe once the news was out, everyone would settle down again. There were better targets for their anger than the Enclave. He wished Dredd were around for other reasons himself. It was a crying shame parting on such indefinite terms, endearing though the little cipher note had been. But it wasn't exactly Eileen's fault the man had left. Nor was Lloyd entirely sure what had happened between Pleasant and the rest of the Enclave command. He hadn't thought an idle dalliance would be taken so seriously but clearly it had been and the officer had seemed shattered over it. If it was about physical relations with outsiders that seemed monstrously unfair. Neither group had a large pool of individuals to begin with and Pleasant was repressed as hell; they hadn't been very kind to him. Lloyd would have asked about it, tangentially, but that wasn't the sort of thing you asked about. "I'll get my canteen," he continued instead. It would be a long walk even without incident. "Would you like something to drink while you're here?"


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

[Bog Lord]

Valentine

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

It was a couple of hours before Valentine returned home, her shoulders stiff and her face locked in dour lines as she let herself in. She bustled around wordlessly for a few moments, laying her weaponry out on the kitchen table and fetching a small-ish, battered black box from her workbench. She took a seat, but her hands didn't cease and rest for an instant; quickly and with practiced, economical movements, she began to disassemble the smallest of her firearms to clean and check for wear. It wasn't long before her expression relaxed, just a little, as the familiar task held its own special comfort.

She set the handgun aside and paused with her hands lightly atop her carbine. "Q, come sit with me, bring your rifle over," she addressed her bodyguard. When he was in the plastic dining chair across the table from her, she offered him a small, apologetic smile.

"The meeting didn't go... well. Lots of shouting. I might have done a bit of that." She never felt the need to mince things up with Q. He might not understand but he likely wouldn't get distressed that she had lost her temper. "There's been no time to get word to Runner HQ and back again, but we took a vote. Majority rule--we're pulling out of Vegas indefinitely, we'll reorganize our supply to the NCR from the Capital. I voted for that. Problem came up when I said I wasn't going with them, I'm going to stay here. But they can't make me go." The recollection of arguments thrown at Valentine when she had stated her decision, coupled with a few personal insults, unfair demands and threats from less disciplined colleagues, brought some heat back into her voice. "We finally called the meeting for tonight but we have to finalize things tomorrow. For me, that means handing over an official resignation letter and making sure I get my wages."

She felt, and looked, somewhat apprehensive about the whole deal, but it had to get done. And she was positive that saner Runners would prevail over the hotheads who looked at her as a traitor for choosing to remain in the Mojave. It was for the best she hadn't brought up the considerations as an independent arms dealer once her job with the Gun Runners was officially done.

[Specter Flux]

"All right, all right. I'll try," Martin said, a bit shamefaced at being scolded. The attempt might mean very little, though. He had the feeling he was going to spend the better part of his nights lying awake. He hated that - it was one thing to put off getting up in the morning when you were still half-asleep, and another to stare up at the ceiling wide-awake but immobile with unanswered questions churning through your head. Maybe he could read to kill time. That counted, right? It was rest, anyway, if not sleep. Too bad he couldn't trust the recovered notebooks out of the lab.

Randal was right, of course. It could be dangerous to run himself ragged. The scientist hadn't really thought about it before, and he was having difficulty coming to grips with the concept even now. It wasn't as though he'd ever gotten to the point where he was dropping glassware. But the clinic lab didn't have nearly the safeguards that there were at Raven Rock. He could potentially cause harm to everyone involved - or much more likely and of sudden concern to himself, he could wind up damaging an experiment beyond recovery. It would be a shame to lose something irreplaceable that way, though cutting off work at some predetermined time gnawed at him just as badly. This wasn't exactly the NCR street patrol.

"I'll stay out of the lab when it's late," he conceded. Randal's most worrisome objections would be countered if he avoided working with anything hazardous for long hours. Dropping to a crouch, he opened the lower cabinets, fishing through ancient dusty kitchenware for something that could be used to carry water. "But you know I can't sleep sometimes."

[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.”

“I know. As much as I like to sleep I sometimes have that problem too, so I understand.” Randal intoned absently as he washed out an empty jam jar with a peeling label before filling it and putting the newly-rinsed lid back on. He examined his work briefly, turning the jar upside down to see if there would be a leak before he glanced back at the scientist. “Honestly staying out of the lab late at nights is enough of a promise for me.” The jar didn’t appear to leak so Randal set it on the cabinet before continuing his search for others. Another candidate was found under the sink; dusty, its lid was yellowed from the passage of time in the dark cabinet. There weren’t any traces of rotten food residue or anything else—the jar was empty, the remnants of tape peeling from its side. Ominous, as his imagination ran wild. “I hope they didn’t use this jar for anything other than food purposes.” The next Jar he found appeared to be larger as well as taller. It had no smell itself but the lid smelled faintly of something that brought old gherkins to the forefront of his mind after a single, cautious little sniff. “Gross, what could smell so strong it lingers long after the jar’s been empty for almost two centuries?”

He continued this process several more times before drying his hands and rolling his sleeves down. "That should be enough if I find myself hiding from a scorpion or something similar for a few hours." Despite the light-hearted tone, he felt a chill at the bottom of his very being. Shaking his head absently, Randal looked back to Martin while collecting the jars in his arms. "Do we have any apples or non-perishables?"
Attempting to cook while on the trail might be disastrous, so it would be best for him to take things that could be eaten on the go and resist spoilage in the Mojave's blistering heat. If the dry goods and other things had survived two-hundred years intact, it wasn't much of a stretch to expect them to last two more days.

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

[ExcessivelyTimewise]

- Eileen Compton-

“In silence - and in self-defense - I figured things out in my own little way.”

The comment received a wry sort of look from Eileen. The charming demeanor was often a lure, the bait employed by those that needed to blend in and get others to trust them. Eager’s charisma would be dangerous if the man knew how to wield it, but she wasn’t about to arm him in that manner. He could do enough damage on his own. That still spoke little of her, however. If only the Paladin knew. Sure, she was probably preferred over Pleasant, but Pleasant didn’t know how to kill a man quickly and silently enough that it goes undetected for moments that were precious and highly useful in the espionage trade.
Let him believe what he wanted. “No thank you.” She smiled, glancing back to the robot. “Are you going to be accompanying us? Your testimony might be more believable for them if you were to recap for them in person.”
"I did not intent to got to Helios with the two of you..." Asimov began, sounding almost hesitant. " There have been people sneaking around lately and I feel they may soon trespass, their intentions are unknown as of yet."
The excuse was fairly valid, even thoughtful that the robot would have such concerns without being ordered to. "You don't have to if you feel you need to stay behind and protect your home, I'm sure Paladin Lawrence wouldn't hold it against you either."

“Whatever you are, be a good one.”

~ℚ Bץєяℓy~

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

The android obliged, taking the rifle’s strap from his shoulder and carrying it to Val as she asked before taking a seat. Q watched her work impassively before he met her eyes and offered a faint smile of his own in an attempt to non-verbally state he had accepted that apology. As anticipated, he didn’t take offense to flares of temper, in fact he hardly seemed to notice them as they weren’t directed toward him or in any danger of causing problems for them in that moment. His words were measured, as he appeared to be choosing the words as he went along. Counsel wasn’t his strong point, obviously. “It seems to be a waiting game then. Wouldn't hurt to take this time to work on our project and collect some of the wares you may intend to sell later on—to take your mind off of some things maybe as it appears to bother you considerably.”

“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”

[Bog Lord]

Valentine

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

The carbine lay dismantled atop a cloth spread over the table while Valentine deftly applied the contents of her cleaning kit to remove any traces of material that, if built up, could cause some serious harm to her weapon or self. She was methodical and careful, her face eased back from the noxious fumes of solvent and oil.

Her despondent expression lightened a little at his suggestion. "I'm going to write out a resignation letter for them to take back with them, and then we should definitely do that." She wiped her fingers off on a kerchief. Then she reassembled her carbine. "I've got a few things stored in here, but it might not be a bad idea to go into Freeside and see whats available. It's a good idea to start an inventory. I was thinking of getting a few good pieces from the Runners before they go instead of my pay, and if they'd let me, a good chunk of often-in-need ammo." Valentine rose, hefted her favoured weapon, and inspected it a last time before setting it aside unloaded. She went to the couch for the notepad and pencil, and came to sit down once more.

"Here, you make sure your rifle is top shape, I'll scrawl something out and try to make it sound professional. I probably shouldn't write, 'I'm totally done with you bárbaros de basura, give me my money,' huh? Don't want to get in a fight." Despite her irritated attitude towards certain of her colleagues, Valentine printed out a tidy and restrained resignation notice and signed it. She reviewed it, folded it up, and left it under the vase of dried flowers that decorated the table for later.

"Let me know when you wanna get going, we can go trawl Freeside."

Roy

This time I'll be a little smarter,
I'll push myself a little harder

The ache between her ears persisted, and against her better judgement but in line with her body's demands, Roy poured and drank the remainder of the coffee pot. It took her ten, maybe fifteen--twenty--minutes to think up what she wanted to say, and to work up her nerve. She thought the better of going on air without a bit of warm-up, and while she felt silly as anything, BT was hardly within hearing range to listen to her uncertain introduction. She kept his suggestion in mind, however, and when she felt as close to comfortable as she could, she limped over to the storage closet door, mic in hand and paperclip in pocket.

"Good morning, Mojave! The name is Presley, and I'll be standing in for Bosley for a couple of days. He works pretty damn hard around here, no joke, but the station doesn't have the funds for a fancy New Vegas Strip vacation, so--" she violently jingled the door-knob--"I sent him on a trip to the storage closet for a few days! He's still disagreeable, but don't worry, listeners, he'll come around. For now..." she paced herself through the broadcast, rehashing the news events in BT's cards and remarking on weather. "...I'll be back again soon, and we can check on Bosley's vacation. Enjoy some classics in the mean time." Paperclip to off button, hands to buttons, and music began to hum.

Roy sat back. Not so bad, right? But not everyone'd be listening at this moment who followed along with Black Mountain. She'd have to keep introducing herself for the next couple days, and maintain the cover for BT until he got back. She looked forward to it, not just because he'd have finished with a dangerous albeit necessary bit of radio espionage, but because it was bound to be amusing when he came back from his enforced 'vacation.'

[Specter Flux]

"I don't think we have apples." Too bad, actually. Martin wouldn't have minded eating one himself. He would have to get some the next time he was in Westside, or ask one of the soldiers to bring them back. As for the rest of the question, they didn't have much that was non-perishable, and he couldn't really see Randal carrying chunks of meat along with him, close as the Vault was. Standing, he reached up to open one of the cabinets over the sink. "All the Pre-War food is in here." The scientist had moved it himself when they'd cleaned out the kitchen. There wasn't much, but a few cans and boxes probably held something edible and were spared from the resulting bonfire. He never touched the stuff beyond that. If anyone actually liked it, they'd be better off taking some from the Lucky 38. It was only good in a pinch - well, canned fruit aside. That tasted almost good enough he didn't feel guilty about eating it.