This is an RP about the end of the D.C. Crusade. Yes, the very same genocidal zealots who came and either killed everyone in your settlement for loving ghouls, or came, killed the ghouls, and took over the settlement. The very men who, from a ceratin point of view, brought an rather chaotic form of order to D.C. As this RP spirals downward, the Capitol Wastes will once again revert to the way it was before the Crusade's Empire and it's reign. This is the End. This RP starts one month after the end of the "Crusade vs. Claws Pg. 9" RP.
Factions: The Crusade, the Last Legion (Time for Run4's traitors, lol), the Tribal factions
- You don't have to be part of a faction, but you can ally yourself with one (if you hate the Crusade, go to either of the last two)
Crusade PFC Hawkins was drenched in irridated rain. Inside the trenches, just about everyone was either nervous, scared shitless, or both. It was really happening, wasn't it? Numerous military setbacks, weeks of hard fighting in the north and south, tales of FairFax and of 7th Hell's remaining troops rallying to Colonel Roarke. The stories of tribals capturing troops and scalping them, the tales of the ferals and the rumors of unrest at York up in the Northeast. It was all coming to end, wasn't it? Hawkins was scared out of his mind. After the Void, he had reverted back to his usual self. Rice was gone. DeSoto was gone. Drake was long dead. How many guys were left? Just him and Harrison? This time, there would be no golden gun for their salvation. Moore had been full of empty promises and lies. Now it was coming back to haunt them. Gripping his G36C, he motioned for Harrison to follow him, and continued down his usual patrol route in the trenches. It was dark, smelly, and rainy, and this area north of Jerusalem was a rather dadly hellhole, even for guys with combat expierience in New York against MoS troops like Hawkins. Whatever. It didn't matter. Everything had just hit the fan after Jerusalem had been breached. Now Hawkins and his buds just had to wait for the storm to arrive.
Fireman0504 Here's to the Crusade! The most common enemy since the Enclave! Been a good run boys and girls!
Stefanie McRae picked her way through the ruins of D.C. She'd been out scavenging for supplies for the last day. Today'd been a good one. She came across an old, abandoned drug store. Now she had a shit ton of Buffout to fuel her addiction, and she'd been able to finally secure and get rid of her crave for Pork N' Beans. She'd been hiding out in D.C. for about a month with the groups she'd met up with outside of the place they called Jerusalem. She was simply waiting for them to make their move so she could head back to Zanadu and get on with life, such as it was. She'd done a pretty good job stocking up on things here though. She'd even come across a Mister Handy unit in an abandoned house. "He" called himself Jeeves, and he was everything he was cracked up to be. He was helping her haul water and food from the day's scrounging at the moment, as she picked her way back toward the hideout, she heard a distinctive 'thud thud thud' overhead. Ducking into a pile of rubble, she watched as Jeeves moved inside another building and the VTOL moved overhead. If there was one thing these Crusaders did right, it was make the D.C. ruins safer for everyone. They'd pushed the Super Mutants to near extinction, something that the Brotherhood of Steel had been trying for two decades to do. They'd also eradicated the feral ghoul population and destroyed most of the Raider gangs who prowled the ruins. The only ones left were the Brotherhood of Steel, and they largely kept to themselves around their Outposts at the Mall, the White House, the Citadel, and the GNR. Stefanie walked back out as the sound faded and continued on her way.
Mathis Alexander had watched as this Crusade came into order, the devastation and genocide they caused to an already flawed world. Being a historian, Mathis had already recorded most of the events that have happened recently, this including the Crusade's obvious downfall. At the beginning Mathis was temped to join the extremist organization, but after seeming the destruction and war they caused, he reconsidered. Being the wanderer he is, he won't likely stay in D.C for much longer. He was considering heading to Austin after hearing about the Outcast's sudden Exodus there. Something important was going on in that city, but it would have to wait. He would stay in D.C for the time being to record the last breaths of this imperial faction. He spit as he loaded up to move out. Grabbing his Ak-103, or "Chinese Assault Rifle" as they called it around here, he left the partiality destroyed apartment complex he was resting in. To his north was the remaining Crusade forces, he would go and observe them today, he had a feeling in his bones that something was going to happen.
With that Mathis walked into the rising North, oblivious to what events linger in the near future.
--Cerebral plague 12:54, 21 April 2009 (UTC)
Jack had been with one of the others from the group from earlier. They were approaching a house, unaware of what was inside of it. He had his M79 grenade launcher out, filled with the buckshot shell. Signaling to the man behind him, when he finished picking the lock, he would bust in and shoot anyone on the the right side of the room, then the left would be cleared by Jack. When he was almost finished, he heard talking. "Do you think it was smart to hide in here Phillip? I mean, the Crusade will find us, and they'll kill us for our relationship. "Don't worry Thomas, we'll run away from all this, head to the country, or that Oasis place. That's filled with people that would respect us for who we really are!" Jack was trying not to burst out laughing, he hoped to god that they weren't talking about what he thought they were talking about.
Sergeant Aaron Kingly of the Rivet City Police looked out over the pile of slag that had once been liberty prime.The brotherhood hadn't even bothered to move it.He had cheered as the giant robot obliterated crusaders and had been the first to sign up for what Harkness called the Freedom of DC Corps.Most of rivet city had joined in the end and now deep in the bowls of the ship men and women were being trained by harkness and given Guns from traders on the Marketplace.The Crusade would burn and the citizens of rivet city would stand by the campfire and laugh.
Hawkins stood in the ruins with Harrison, completely alert. Word was that the tribals were moving for their monthly migration from the north. Except this time, it wasn't monthly. They'd been coming towards this point in the defenses, known as Gilead Point, every day now. Gilead Point was the last strong point before Jerusalem. It was the epitomy of week's of hard work of shoveling irridated dirt shit and removing dead trees for barricade cover. It was centered around an old skyscraper, once known for the lavish guests it used to hold as a hotel. Now it was the last line before a complete and utter military defeat. Hawkins, now a Sergeant, motioned for his men to follow him, their orange-colored eyes glowing in the rain of the day.
It was quiet, as usual. Nothing had happened since the end of last week, when the tribals had started gathering in force. Captain Frederick Thomas; asshole commander, former New York Garrison soldier, and now the sole leader of the the defense of Jerusalem's meager territory, sat on the top floor of Gilead Point. His desk was old and creaky, and it shuddered when he placed his power armor helmet down upon it. An aide walked inside, his voice clearly nervous. "Sir." He began. Thomas acknowledged him. "The Tribals just hit another patrol. In force this time. CCI, or what remains of it, is reporting that they're marching, and even with their primitive gear, will overwhelm Gilead." The aide finished. Thomas cursed under his breath. Sure, he been under this situation only months before. But he had resources; men, supplies, VTOLs; he had time. Now, the Last Legion was coming, the Tribals were marching, and whatever remnants of that blasted waster army was gathering too. Thomas waved the aide off, and turned towards his rather crumbled up map. He had some last-minute last stand planning to do.
Colonel Nathaniel Roarke marched with his soldiers. The Last Legion had been growing by the day as more and more Crusade soldiers defected to their cause. They had just destroyed another attack by Wastelanders. These pin pricks were becoming more and more common the closer they got to DC. But Roarke smiled nonetheless. He saw his target ahead. The waters of the Potomac River. He signalled for the Diplomat to his right to move around with the camera.
Roarke marched over his makeshift bridge. A truck pushed into the river with some scrap metal to bridge the gap between it and the banks. Hardly glorious, but this was a momentous occassion. As he stood on the center of the bridge, the Diplomat took the picture. Colonel Roarke crossing the Potomac, war following in his wake. The eyes of his T-51b glowing the same menacing red of the BRA armor his soldiers wore. He had been glad to make that modification. It scared the shit out of anyone who fought him head-on. Jerusalem would be his. Moore, Thomas, Taggart and any other commanders left would hang at his orders. The Crusade would be his.
Fred pulled up the dossier of his former ally, Colonel Roarke. Such a sad tale. They'd been childhood allies, back when they used to play pranks on Moore, like that time with the stun grenade under the toilet in Moore's tower retreat. Of course, Adam had taken full blame for that one. Moore had been really pissed about that. Fred continued to look through the dossier. Distuinguised service record. Several medals, including a Legion Merit badge, had attached to his record. Now, Adam had defected, and he was marching against the very thing that had given him purpose. Fred needed to stop him here. He needed to convince him that what he was doing was wrong.
Hawkins and his respective platoon patrolled the streets. As usual, the wasters scattered, the feral ghouls got shot down, the super mutant at the corner got blown to bits, and the enemy tribal patrol got obliterated. Nothing unusual. However, what was unusual was that the Last Legion had been sighted in this area; in fact, they were in sight. An advance party of several men, still clad in crusade equipment, rounded the corner about the same time as Hawkins and his men. Everyone stopped. Wasters watched from alleys and windows. The occasional dog squealed. Hawkins, aswell as everyone else present, immediatly raised their weapons. Harrison barked at the defectors. "Drop your weapons!" He roared, his rifle pointed true. The enemy sergeant repeated the very same sentence. "Do I have a kill order, Hawkins?" Harrison roared, the tension rising. "Hawkins, I need an order!" He yelled again. Hawkins was frozen. It was against the code. Crusade soldiers never shot their own, no matter if they had defected or had deserted. "I need an order, Hawkins, dammit!" Harrison said again. The enemy soldiers held their positions too. It was completely silent. Not a bird moved. The rain became a figment of imagination. But both sides refused to fire. Instead, Hawkins and his respective enemy commander did something crazy; they lowered weapons. Harrison, in disbelief, let his shotgun droop down. The enemy sergeant nodded in sympathy. They were still brothers. No matter whose side they were on, they were all Crusade, through and through. In old times, this would have been considered Christmas Day. Not that it mattered, anyhow.
The device gave a long whining noise, and Conor Strauss responded by giving it a strong thump, at which point it abruptly stopped. He glanced over to Worthington, who was checking over the rest of the equipment, so Strauss nodded to himself, flicked a switch and brought the speaker to his mouth. It didn't matter who was listening, this needed to be said.
"Good afternoon, Capital Wasteland. You're listening to Claws Radio, which has been suffering some unexpected downtime these past few months. Your regular DJ, Jason, isn't here. In fact, he and the rest of the Claws are galavanting 'round the country with the wind at their heels. 'cept me. I'm Conor Strauss, third down the chain of command of the group, and in the absense of my associates, I've taken charge of what's left, which consists of a base, some robots and a few turrets. As I'm sure a few of you know, there was a military strike against the Crusade occupants about a month back. I was a part of that strike, as were many others. The thing is, and let me be honest with ya; I'm not sure whether the damage we did made the situation here in D.C. better, or worse. It seems the whole place has gone to hell, and between the infighting and the fallout from that nuke, lots of people have died. At the risk of sounding like J.H. Eden, I'm going to just say that things will get better. I've never been good at speeches and shit, but I know the Wastes as well as any of you and I probably know how the Crusade operates a lot better, so just trust me when I say things will be alright. Thanks for listening and have a nice day, Capital Wasteland. If you want some music, switch on over Galaxy News right now, Three Dog sounds like he's just finishing up his weather forecast. Peace."
Strauss flicked the switch back to its off-position and placed the speaker on the table, leaning back in his chair and peering up at the dim lights of the Super-Duper Mart. Strauss sighed as his robot helper turned off the equipment. He wasn't sure who, if anyone had just heard that. He doubted that people would be too interested in a station that had been down for months, but he had to get that sort of message off his chest to somebody, even if it was just a mole rat who'd burrowed into an abandoned shack with a working radio. He tapped a few buttons on his Pip-Boy and tuned into GNR, listening to the music playing. "Maybe" by the Ink Spots, he'd heard Three Dog call it before. He'd always liked that song since he first heard it, and it always managed to cheer him up, somehow. Worthington, after finishing shutting down the gear, hovered over and poured Strauss a glass of whiskey. The robot had excellent intuition. He sure felt like he needed it. And so, punctuated by the music, the noise of Worth's dual rotors as he hovered and the sounds of gunfire and lasers outside as the turrets and reprogrammed Sentry Bots defended the base from whatever threatening had gotten near this time, Strauss simply thought to himself in silence for some time.
Domingo Velasquez slowly stepped back into the interior of El Oso, "The Bear", and looked around one last time at the newly established wasteland on the edges of the zone that had been wiped out by the Fat Man OMEGA the scavengers in the area had spoke of. The men said that they had "seen a cloud go a mile high above the surrounding area", and that if he had a deathwish, he could go right ahead. Of course, Domingo was completely prepared for this and had hidden within the sealed cockpit of El Oso as the radiation crackled around him with the aid of his Geiger counter. Despite this risk, however, the search for supplies yielded nothing but ash and death, so he had headed for hime. The old, gutted Sherman Tank had shuddered away from the hot zone and headed back for Rivet City, its empty trailer rattling along behind it.
Tuning his set in to the "Claws Radio", he caught the end of Conor's broadcast. He smiled a bit at the thought of better days on the horizon. So he raised the Claws Radio headquarters via a reverse-broadcast, using the same frequency to broadcast his message back from the small antennae on the back of the old, disarmed tank. He picked up the reciever and cleared his throat. "Conor Strauss," he said aloud, his Hispanic accent echoing around the buzzing, humming, clanking interior of the Sherman tank. "I've heard of the Claws. Their exploits are honorable, and I am going to let you know I am willing to pitch in and help your noble venture in any way possible. My name is Domingo Velasquez, and I am the pilot of El Oso. I wish you luck in your ventures, and may good fortune shine on your path." And with that, he hung up the reciever and turned off the radio.
Another few hours passed before the retrofitted tank arrived outside Rivet City, and Velasquez slowly climbed out of the top of the tank. His bullet-riddled jacket clung tightly to the grey T-shirt he had taken to wearing instead of his usual bare-chested-ness. He saw the bridge was out for once, and realized maybe things were going to get better after all- for once, he didn't even have to buzz into Rivet City. And so he quickly passed over the long bridge and into Rivet City's cool interior. He lowered himself into the marketplace and looked about, taking his usual seat at Gary's Galley and enjoying a cold scotch. Yes, He thought, Things are getting better already.
Riley Alan was following Conor since the main group split up a few weeks ago. They settled in an old "store", which Conor remarked as the base for a group that Riley had not heard of. He sent Cat out the last day to find ammo, and since Cat was such a good hunter he had made it back alive, and with a few 5.56 clips.
Mathis had traveled with a trustworthy caravan to Rivet city, previously known as the safest place in D.C, now it was a complete warzone. Although recently things had lightened up, the opening of the bridge said that. He looked over to his companion whom he did not know the name of, "Goodbye friend, be careful traveling the wastes, war still lingers in the air." With that Mathis proceeded to the ship-turned-city to rest. Tomorrow his intentions would turn towards the north, towards the still living Crusade. As he walked to rusted bridge, one thing caught his eye. To his left was an old Sherman Tank, like the ones he had read so much about. Strange that he would see one here, and working too. He would study it, but he had the feeling the owner wouldn't like him doing so. Mathis greeted a guard as he passed into the marketplace, heading towards the local bar to get something to drink.
Dom took another draw from the bottle of scotch, emptying it and placing it on the table in front of him. With the bottle on its way down to the table, Dom's cocked head met a man coming down the main ladder to the marketplace. He didn't seem to be one of the people that had come around in recent times, at least the times that Dom had been there. So before he went to Flak and Shrapnel's to pick up his latest shipment of supplies bound for the Citadel, Dom decided to meet the newcomer. So he picked up a bottle of vodka from Gary's Galley and met the newcomer halfway, along the way hoisting the brown, square bottle up to his face level.
"Ah, hello, newcomer. Come, join me in a toast." The clearly slightly inebriated Dom declared, before heading back to his table and hoisting the bottle. "A toast!" Dom shouted, holding the bottle up again. A few of the other people at the assorted dining tables turned their heads to look at the Hispanic man with the rediculous handlebar moustache and greasy black ponytail swinging his vull bottle of vodka around like a club. "A toast!" Dom repeated again, before adding: "To the continued prosperity of the Capital Wasteland! May the Claws and the Last Legion bring in a new era of prosperity, where the shadow of the Crusade bastards no longer hangs over us!" And in one fell swoop, he tore out the cork of the vodka bottle and drained its contents in one mighty swig, slamming the emptied bottle back onto the table.
Stefanie gingerly picked her way through the rubble of Bailey Crossroads. Her and Jeeves were winding thier way through an old, bombed out building. Well theres a little somethin somethin Stefanie thought as she smiled to herself. There was some type of unfinished structure out the back door. She followed the ramp down to a deactivated ham radio. Gazing up, she followed the cable of the lift up to the bridge of a crane. Feeling the car sway as she stepped aboard, Stefanie activated the controls. The gate shut as the car went deep down into the ground, passing by many mag-sealed doors. When it stopped, the door before her opened automatically, revealing a crumbled entryway. There were signs of occupation, relatively recently. By Jeeves' calculation it was roughly 16 months ago. Stefanie examined the first room, then walked into a corridor. There were cots set up, and blankets and rations left everywhere. She turned to the left and entered a storage room. The heavy doors were open, but the room was completely empty. Eveyrthing in there had been taken. Shelves lined the walls. Stefanie could guess it was something good. She walked into a generator room to her left. Everything was operational. In fact, it seemed the generator was keeping the systems in this hidden fortress running. She exited the room and walked down the hall. Ignoring the junk-filled room on her right and walking into a room with a strange, egg-shaped, pod. She read the inscription on the side. "U.S. Army Simulation Training, Operation Anchorage." She had no idea what that meant. Jeeves didn't either, but he referred her to "current events." That is, the Chinese occupation of Alaska. Stefanie shrugged and re-entered the room outside the door. She found a host of small tools, as well as a work bench, an oven, and two refridgerators full of food. She was lucky and found a few assorted drugs and meds laying around, which she quickly pocketed. She exited the room and headed back up the hall, noticing a set of stairs on her right. She went up and came into a room. There was some foot lockers and a few beds. On the table she found a note, stamped with a red cog that had a single sword bisecting it. She read it aloud to herself.
"Here this day, July 19 in 2278, Protector Casdin of the Brotherhood of Steel Outcasts, did take refuge during the Siege of Fairfax. On the morn of the glorious 20th, did our Brothers relay news of their victory over the Crusade. So begins that which we've all striven to see, the Great Exodus. May Steel be with us."
So the Crusade could be defeated Stefanie thought to herself. This looked like as good as any place to make a home as long as she stuck around in D.C. "Time to settle in, Jeeves," she said. "Yes, ma'am," the robot responded. She smiled. Such a gentleman he was. Stefanie switched on the radio. Long as she was staying, she might as well stay entertained. She'd scavenge a little more tomorrow. Stefanie layed down on the bed and listened as Jeeves went about his butlerly business.
Aaron kingly pulled up a chair at garys gally "the usuall gary" 2 bottles of cola and a glass of scotch slid his way.He raised his glass "to rivet city!".Pausing he turned to see a Heavy set stranger who he had not seen before "so stranger who's is that tank outside the city"
"That would be my tank, senor." Domingo slurred slightly, straightening the collar of his jacket as he stumbled to his feet. "I am Domingo Velasquez, last known survivor of Bart's Hollow, Leader of the Seven Sins Mercenary Company, and virtuoso of the wasteland scroungers!" He half-announced, half-drunkenly shouted to all those assembled.
Jacob Vaughton (Oh Yeah, he's back to finish the job he started in Fairfax!) walked with the slow, easy grace of a consummate soldier. Every step made hints at whipcord strength and blurring speed. Even for someone who didn't know who he was (which was pretty much anyone outside of the Enclave and the DC Ruins), it was clear that he wasn't a man to be taken lightly. Even going on 41, he was quicker and stronger than anyone he knew. Any human he knew, anyway. It was his people skills that let him down. Otherwise, he'd be an exemplary member of society. He was gruff, blunt and abrupt. He was surprised people put up with him, even in the dire circumstances where he worked with others. The only people he had ever really "clicked" with were the Brotherhood of Steel Outcasts, but they had left right after the Siege of Fairfax, almost three years ago now. He often thought about how Ranik, Sam, Carter, Hamilton, Ramsey and Jackson were getting on. Probably being hailed as the Brotherhood's greatest heroes. They deserved nothing less.
But they were as good as a million miles away right now. With the Crusade and some splinter group called the Last Legion moving against each other, DC was about to find itself caught between the hammer and the anvil again. And on a scale not seen since that fool Bren Tenkage had led his band of misfit imbeciles against the Crusade. Jacob watched from his vantage point on a ridge above the Last Legion forces as they marched past the Northern DC Ruins, passing not three hundred yards from the National Guard Depot. He knew well that these soldiers would be the end of the Crusade. The Outcasts had defeated the Crusade once, and now this Roarke and his Legion would bury them. That attack on Jerusalem really had broken the back of this once united, leviathan, insurmountable foe. All Jacob had to do now was find a way to get rid of Roarke after they dealt with Thomas and his lot. Otherwise it'd be nothing more than replacing the wolf with the tiger.
Dutch Holmes stood from the ridge, his new aviator sunglasses as ominous as ever. Donning his usual black jacket, jeans, and combat boots, he watched from his camp as the Crusade splinter-faction known as the Last Legion set up camp just past the Northern D.C. ruins. Typical. Gilead Point was where Dutch expected them to attack. Once that was taken, there would no significant force left to oppose them. The Airborne were tremendous fighters, but they lacked something the Legion had x2; numbers. That would be their downfall. Holmes loved the entire scenario. Let the two sides destroy each other, then smash both of them with an Enclave attack. Then hopefully, the Tribals wouldn't be foolish enough to make the Enclave waste resources and time on them. Smiling, Holmes sat back down on his camping stool, ripped open a ration pack, and started chewing. Vulgar. Immediatly spitting the contents back out, Holmes continued to watch the Legion from it's camping site.
--Cerebral plague 20:16, 22 April 2009 (UTC)
Jack was sitting in the house he recently captured. A few Crusade would be deserters were in there, but were taken care of. He was at his little snipers perch, watching as the group of Crusade soldiers were marching towards Jerusalem. There was something odd about these men though, not waving the flag, and had just marched by a house with a waste lander looking out the window. Without Shooting him in the face. These weren't regular Crusade, they were serious. "Perhaps I should shoot?" He had the shot, he could escape before they could reach the house. He was thinking over it, and decided to kill the one right behind the leader. He took aim, compensating for the drop. He fired, and got up. He started to run down the stairs, heading out of the building.
"you have a TANK!.Where did you get it.Never mind im part of the organisation called the Horde we could use a man of talent like yourself"
"Radley, 3rd Company brought their artillery along, yes? I want those howitzers to shell that building and it's grounds to dust. And I want it done ten minutes ago." Roarke said, annoyed that they hadn't killed that man in the window. So much for assuming a man in a poncho was too mentally disturbed to pose a threat. The prick had shot one of the defectors from another battalion. If it had been a Last Chancer, he'd have had fifth company and the Last Legion's own artillery set up and turn that hill into a hollow.
Jacob clotheslined a man who came running out of a house. Putting a foot to the man's chest, he pointed his gun at the poor sap's head before he realised he knew this guy. Cerebral fucking Jack. That assassin who had fought against the Crusade in Bren's fool war.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Jacob said, almost shouting. He wasn't expecting that. Then, he heard the characteristic puff of a far-off mortar shot. Then the boom of a large-bore howitzer. He hadn't heard sounds like that since Jerusalem. That meant that himself and Jack were in deep shit.
"Move!" Jacob shouted, dragging Jack to his feet and taking off at a sprint as shells screamed overhead.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 20:56, 22 April 2009 (UTC)
To someone who fought the Crusade at Jersulm, seeing Weston like this would have been a shiock. To those who didnt know him, they did'nt care. For that mtter, almost no one else BESIDES the fightes at Jesulm cared. To them, he was just a crazy drunk. To Conor, to Jack, to Jackal, eve to Jacob, he was SOMEONE. The only person outside of the Assualt group was Marshall. At least he cared. Stumbling across the Marketplace, and getting a few glancesfrom the guards, he came up on a Hispanic man who looked like he had some cash.
"hhhheyyy, buddyyy. Wanna spare a hhhero a drinkkkk?"
"How about a drink among heroes, Weston?" Jackal said loudly, right into Weston's ear. Weston jumped at the rasping Irish accent of everybody's favourite Ghoul wanderer. Jackal slapped Weston on the back, nearly knocking the inebriated young man flat on his face.
"Beer for the boy, and lots of whiskey for me. He had a head start." Jackal shouted to the bartender. Gareth or something. Garibaly? No, Gary! That was his name. Shit, was he going senile or soemething? Damn, that'd be a shame. Anyway, everybody would be better off without the Crusade. He seconded the tank-driving stranger's salute of the Last Legion. He ignored the salute to the Claws. He was't happy with Bren, inviting him down to DC and fecking off without a word. Twat. Anyway, drink!
Strauss had smiled as he heard the message, and had decided to pack up his gear. "Riley," he called out to the other sole human resident of the Super-Duper Mart, "Me and Worth are hikin' down to Rivet City, see what's going on down there. You coming?" That had been several hours ago; they'd been heading there since then. (Up to you whether Riley's coming Krush, "they" could easily refer to just Strauss and Worth) And now, after passing the old Jefferson Memorial, they could clearly see the city-ship in the distance. Strauss smiled fondly as his memories of living there flushed back to him. Another thing to be pleased about was the distinct lack of Super Mutants shooting at him as he walked. Guess the Crusade are good for something.
Riley stood in a small area of the Super Duper Mart. It had a small makeshift lab, a few chems, and a terminal. Wonder who used this.. he thought. To the left of the table, was a box, and inside the box was a few jugs of molasses, some wonder-glue, and a bottle of dirty water. Beside the box were hollowed out grenades. Now Riley was curious, and poured the three substances into the grenade. He then put a small fuse on it and lit it with his match, and threw it through a window. It exploded into a stick substance that boiled hot under the sun, and would probably stick anything too it like a trap. "Lets try some Nuka-Cola," Riley said and poured half a bottle of Quantum into the grenade, followed by a handful of Abraxos. He then threw this grenade out the window and it exploded with the same sticky black substance, but it was burning this time, "Wonderful." Riley then typed his findings into the terminal for anybody to find after him, and stocked up about 6 of his special grenade, and then started to follow Strauss, "Yeah I'm coming."
"Jesus Fucking Christ man! Why the hell did you just tackle me!" Jack was running along with Jacob as the mortar hit the building behind him. "That wasn't necessary! Why the hell would that be necessary! I didn't even shoot your friend, or someone you know! I was just trying to kill some one today, and how the hell did you even know I was in there?" Jack was running along, as another mortar hit the building. How the hell did they even know where the shot came from, there was no glare, and I was hiding in the shadows, you would have to have already known I was there to figure out where to mortar. I got there before they even made camp....
Fireman0504 I'm gonna have Stefanie bump into Conor, Worth and Riley while scavenging
Stefanie woke up and looked around. "Wonder how long I was out?" she said. "13 hour and 28 minutes," Jeeves said, hovering into the room. She smiled a lopsided smile at him. "Thank you Jeeves," she said. "Where are we going today?" the Handy said cheerfully. "I'm gonna go solo today," she said, "too many close calls with all the soldiers in the area." She'd been listening to reports of some force called the Last Legion moving in. She didn't want to risk Jeeves, bless his circuitry. She made her way to the elevator. "I hate to be a bother," Jeeves said, "but I get rather uncomfortable being alone." He sounded almost sad. Stefanie had found him diligently maintaining a house in L'Enfant. Didn't even know about the war. Now he got nervous he'd be left alone again. "Don't worry," she said to him, activating the lift, "I'll be back for you." She smiled as the door closed and the lift brought her back into daylight.
"In case you forgot, my human contact is generally short and violent, Jack." JAcob said, shouting to be heard as the mortars hit the building. "As for how I knew you were in there, I heard a sniper rifle, and assumed it was a Crusade Loyalist. The tackle was instinct. I could have hurt you pretty badly, why the hell were you running like a fool?"
Meanwhile, Roarke had called a halt to the bombardment. Maybe that poor wastelander hadn't been the one to take a shot at them. It had been an AP bullet, and completely disintegrated the soldier's head. It could have come from any three directions. Roarke had sent scout kill teams to deal with the other two. At the very least, they'd scare the fool away. Rather than Moore, who saw Wastelanders a a lower form of life, Roarke saw them as a source of support and power. They were still lower-class citizens, but useful nonetheless.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 21:46, 22 April 2009 (UTC)
"And to all the poor bastards that died in Jesrulam, 'eh?"
Weston clanked his beer woth Jackals wishkey, before taking a seat.
"So, Jackal, how've ya been?"
Of course, a cople people stopped and looked at the Ghoul and the, well, Non-ghoul. Sharing a drink. The Crusade would roll over in its grave for that. But, they were in there last legs, so what matter does in make? Thyey foughtr thecrusade on THEIR owhome turf and the motely group of fighters still won. Of course, they all had spilt up, but when they were together they were a nearly untopple force.
Hawkins watched as the enemy platoon left the way they had came, parting ways with the men from Hawkins' platoon. Hawkins was truly saddened. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Hawkins could've sworn he had even seen some of those men before, back during war with the EMAA back in NY. Turning away, Hawkins was about to leave himself when the unexpected happened. Tribals. "There's a whole shitload of em'." Harrison said, cocking his shotgun. Hawkins surveyed the group. More tribals then his own men, that was for sure. They were scattered in different buildings and alleys, wielding primitive and low-grade weapons. Hawkins mouthed a whisper to Harrison., not looking away. "Harrison, have Fiorello set up the minigun and and open up as soon as they charge." Hawkins said, unslinging his assault rifle. Tribals were... unpredictable. Even when they had ranged weapons, they still charged you like they were carrying katanas or something. The lead tribal, clad in a yao guai fur coat and wielding a massive warhammer, roared something incoherent. "Fucking natives." Harrison said, motioning for Fiorello to finish up quickly. The massive A3 gunner gave an ok signal, and hefted his massive mini-gun. The lead tribal roared again, and was met with other roars of approval from the many tribals. They charged, whirling their weapons. Fiorello just turned in a circle, his minigun opening fire. In a circular motion, he cut down the first wave with ease, 5mm rounds tearing through the crowd of natives. The remainder that didn't get cut down were met with gunfire and swords by the platoon. Each soldier of Hawkins' squads were equipped with either combat shotguns, G36Cs, officer swords, and desert eagles with extra .357 clips. More than enough fire power, Hawkins had said. Slamming the butt of his rifle into the first tribal, he shot a trio of bullets into the native, and then kicked his neck sideways, snapping it in an awkward position. Of course, the next thing to fight him, as luck would have it, was the massive tribal leader, who brought his warhammer down on Hawkin's rifle. The weapon snapped in two, and forced Hawkins back, making him fall on the ground. Drawing his sword, he blocked the hammer at the last second as it came down to his head. The sword was sturdy, but it held as the tribal brought the hammer down again and again. Finally, exhuased, Hawkins dropped the sword, tired from blocking all of the blows. Of course, however, Harrison fired two shells of buckshot, killing the massive tribal. He fell over Hawkins, blood spattering all over his body. "Jesus he's heavy!" Hawkins said, struggling to push off the brute, drew his .357 from his holster and fired it twice at the next tribal to try and skewer or crush him, the rounds ripping through his face and causing his brains to explode in blood and meat.
"Well, first of all I just shot some one in the face, and the guy right next to him had a pair of binoculars, and he looked over at my direction first, and started yelling. Which is odd, as armor peircing bullets tell you if he got shot in the front or the back. I assumed that he by chance looked at the one house I'm in. So, I immediately started running, as I knew he would start mortaring. If I hadn't I would of been blown to bits by Mortar fire right now." Jack kept running as he realized Jacob was
Domingo looked hard at the man who was advertising himself as a fellow mercenary through bleary eyes swimming in a third full bottle of vodka. "No, friend, I am sorry. I'm freelancing right now... Maybve another time though?"
And then Weston's voice mumbled through the buzzing in his ears and the low voices of the people around him. "Hero, you say? Such a man de... Deserves more than just one round... He deserves... Several rounds!" Domingo laughed loudly as he turned the "hero" towards the bar, only to find that another man had appeared in his place. And this one smelled like buzzard bait- ghoul, or someone who had rolled in Brahmin shit for weeks. "Ah, we are among many heroes today! Everyone, a drink for the returning heroes!" Domingo shouted, even louder, as he drained Bottle No. 3 of vodka.
He took a seat next to Jackal and Weston at the bar. "So then, you're re... Re... Returning - yeah, that's it- returning heroes from the war against the Crusade Bastards? Good job, good job. What're your names, then, heroes? No doubt we'll have heard of your exploits by way of the radio! Three Dog has quite a way with finding these morsels of information... No doubt I've heard your names, but still. The drink and all, you know."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:16, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
"Three dog, Bah! You picks names that people will know even before he says it. Like Jacob Vaughton. Yeah, i met him. And Celbral Jack. Met him to. But deoes Three Dog care about ME? No. Should he? Why Not? I went from being a normal wastelander who joined up with a group of craziesand took down the biggest fort on the East Coast. And Do i heven hear a mention from Three Dog? Nope."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:24, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
(well, someone had to hear of you. A guy with a M79 really is'nt that common.)
Aaron Ramsey coughed as he downed his last shot of whiskey, another day spent, another day wasted. He'd been here for almost three years now and still no sign of Jay, he'd recently considered accepting the fact and returning home, but he didn't think he had the will to do so. After leaving unexpectedly and everybody expecting him to at least return with his dear brother, coming back empty handed would be an embarrassment. He downed another shot, these things would wait, for now he was going to enjoy himself. "Bartender, what's the name of that missy over yonder?" He pointed his thumb to an attractive woman across the bar, she was obviously drunk. The bartender stared at him for a moment, "You haven't been around here too much have you? That's one of the meanest bitches in the whole damn wasteland. She'll chew your cock up and spit it all over your face, unless your into that sort of shit." The bartender left Aaron with a shocked face and half a glass. And I thought Megaton women were bad... Aaron rose from his seat and started to leave the bar. From behind him he heard a cheer from some drunk, but it was what he said afterwards that caught Aaron. He mentioned Jacob Vaughton. Yes, Aaron had heard of this legend, but he also heard of who Vaughton had worked with. One of the names was Ramsey. Aaron joined their conversation.
"Yes, Vaughton, quite a legend isn't he? I'm Aaron, and who might you gents be?" He caught the attention of the group.
Stefanie wound her way through the Metro tunnels. It really was a boring walk, now that the Crusade had destroyed every living thing this side of the Potomac. Stefanie didn't mind. Then she didn't have to watch her back while looting or scavenging. She busted into a medical box on the wall. Looking inside she took the Stimpak, Blood Pack, and RadAway. She was going over to Falls Church today. She'd heard from some other scavengers that there were a few choice office buildings over there. To be honest, they were probably picked clean, but then again, the whole of D.C. was picked over a dozen times. There was always something new to get ahold of. Stefanie listened to the gate creak as she went up the stairs into the street. She peeked above the wall. Nope, no sign of anything out here. A a few days back she'd had a close call with a patrol of Crusaders entering D.C. They were just the Combat Armored troops and there were only three. The green, inexperienced, probably conscripted men had no chance against a fighter like Stefanie, but she did suffer a few cuts and bruises. She had taken their equipment and sold it to a trader that'd passed by yesterday. It slowly seemed like the wastse were going back to how she remembered them. Just then, she heard some footsteps. She ducked into a doorway and pressed her back flat against it. She flexed the fingerson her Power Fist in anticipation. The footsteps got closer.
Silas popped out behind Weston. "Three Dog never talks 'bout me neither, boy. He jus' don't like the people don't b'lieve in his 'good fight.' Don't worry 'bout it."
--Cerebral plague 12:45, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
Jack was still running with Jacob. Jacob was faster then him, and was obviously less fatigued. So, Jack was surprised that Jacob stopped first. Jack huddled (What? couldn't think of anything else) to a stop, and looked at Jacob. "Why'd you stop man?" Jacob pointed over there, at the building. He started walking to it. He said something about "Something's In there" and started walking towards it.
Paladin Marcus Andrews sat behind the bar in rivet city with his assistant and second in command Knight Captain Alexander Michell "you best be right bout this Michell last time we came to DC we ended up lossing most of our forces in the west" Alex nodded "sure as sure sir the DC crusades dieing sir and we have a duty to make sure there well and truely dead" Marcus nodded "hey is that Weston over there" Alex paused to look "yup should we say hello or sir as you put get drunk".
Marcus grinned his XO had no sense of humor "il see you back at camp later" He walked over to weston and saw that silas and Jackal were with him. "well boys whats been happening since i left?"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 19:27, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
Westton looked the Brotherhood of Stel soldier in the eys. He left them. How he got out of Jersualam, no one knew. Or, just Weston.
"Fuck you, boyscout."
Weston took a large swig of his beer before turning to the newcomer.
"hhhey, i'm weston. Weston, AKA Henhmen. Nice to met ya."
Once gian, Weston ook another large swig of his beer before turnin to Slias.
"Welcome back Slias, round of beers on you?"
Alex grabbed westons shoulder "don't insult me BOY i on my own could kill you".Marcus laughed "let the boy go alex" he turned to silas "want a glass of Balma silas?"
Jackal eased his machete back into the sheath and watched as Alex stepped away from Weston. That prick (Jackal would use a stronger word, but its unsuitable for the internetz) needed to have some manners put on him. Jackal considered battering him in the jax (bathroom for you non-longo speakers) to teach him a lesson. Maybe drown him in the toilet bowl and ressuscitate him.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in, Alex and Marcus. My God, last time I saw yee was in that attack on Jerusalem. Thought you lot might have been dead. I had dibs on yer arms." Jackal laughed.
Marcus grinned "what would you do with power-armored arms jackal usefull as they are"
"They'd go great with the rest of my trophy rack." Jackal said calmly. Alex glared at him. Jackal was loving how easy it was to wind this bollock up. He downed more whiskey, and then slammed back a tumbler of Balma that Alex handed to him, with a smug grin on his face. That was some strong stuff. Jackal was lucky he was a Ghoul, otherwise he'd be suffering one bitch of a hangover after drinking that. He really wanted to show off, and throw a knife across the room or something, but Harkness would skin the lot of them if he did, so he kept his knives in their little sheaths, sewn into his armor.
Micheal stepped onto the boat, he hated boats, especially ones with police. He moved down to the Muddy Rudder to see some faggot yelling at some other faggot. And a ghoulie waving his machete all over the place. Not as bad as yesterday, Micheal thought.
Marcus pulled out his own glass of balma "barkeep 2 botles of balma please and i know you have some as i sold you some" 2 botles slid down the table.Marcus poured them into the glass and passed them round "Drink up" Marcus drouned his own glass and turned to alex frouning at him "what boy don't want a drink or a smoke or even beter some AC" He smiled alex was easy to wind up.
He turned on his seat to see a new person enter the bar "whos that?"
Strauss paused to glance around. This was the first time he'd seen this part of the ruins without a visible Super Mutant. He took a deep breath and glanced at Riley. "Man, it's quiet, huh? And not too quiet, for once." He glanced up at one of the several vantage points overlooking the nearby city-ship that were normally occupied by Frankensteins. "Hang on a sec, I'mma go see if I can't scav any ammo from that there camp." He began carefully climbing up the rubble towards the remains of the camp.
Domingo started on his fourth bottle of vodka as he turned back to the arguing group. He found that it had now expanded quite a lot, and that the inebriation was fast approaching its peak. A fight would erupt soon if he didn't jump in at a strategic moment with something important to say... Might as well go now?
He shifted in his seat, stood and faced the group of arguing men. He slammed a heavy, veiny fist down on the table. "Gentlemen, gentlemen, please, there's no need for this argument. We're all friends here, for now... Please, let us drink to the success of the fight against the Crusade instead of beating the tar out of eachother."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 21:09, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
Weston looked at the Hispanic. Dominic? Domino? It was something or other. Raising his own beer, he did something that resmbled a salute before cloaasping. Staggering to get back up, he fell agian, before finally regaining his footin.
"Yeah, sure. To the fight against the Crusade....would take a Kings Ransom to get me back in it."
Meanwhile, in the car park of Wheaton Armory Roarke stood over the bisected body of a raider, and heaved his Field Ripper around at the next one, the upward angled blow cleaving him in half from groin to chest. Then Roarke had to kick the body off the whirring teeth as it juddered and twitched on the blade. Then, he pulled off his party trick. He thrusted the Ripper. For a weapon that wasn't designed to thrust, it was incredibly effective at it, tearing a large hole through another Raider. Fools, heretics, fighting a superior foe as if they were able to win. If nothing else, this proved that Raiders could interbreed with vegetables. He then kicked the last Raider to the ground and rammed his Field Ripper down into the man's chest.
"Captain Raze, I want this building stripped of everything not bolted down. If there are any weapons left, we're getting our paws on 'em." Roarke shouted to a shotgun-toting man to his left. He signalled for the rest of the Army Group to move up, and begin setting up camp around the bunker. Away from the radiation hotspots, of course. The last thing they wanted was for someone to die from Rad Poisoning or worse, turn into a Ghoul.
--Cerebral plague 22:21, 23 April 2009 (UTC)
Jack and Jacob were near a house, picking at the door. "I don't know what you were talking about Jacob, I didn't hear anything." Jack then finally picked it, as he grabbed onto the knob. Jacob readied his gun, before kicking in the door. "Jacob, I just unlocked it, why did you do that?" Jacob grinned for a second, before going back to the cold hard expression he nearly always used. Jack looked inside. There were dead ghouls inside, not even feral. Some of the bodies were decapitated, and the rest were mangled and shot up with bullets. "Wonder which Crusade did this" Jack said as he stepped inside.
Aaron obviously wasn't going to get much information out of these guys, they were all drunk too the bone. If he stayed much longer he was sure a fight would form. He wanted to avoid that. "Good drinking with you fellas, but I gotta hit the road. Peace." With that Aaron left, not but getting a small glance from any of the men. They probably had already forgot he was there, typical. Aaron left Rivet City, it was too crowded to sleep in, especially in these times. He would sleep in the same office he'd been sleeping in for the past year and a half, good enough for him. One last look at the floating town, and then he continued into the wastes. He hurried, it's never good to out at night.
Silas raised his glass of Balma to Aaron as he left, then turned back to Weston. "Amen to that, mah friend," he said in a speech punctuated by drunken gurgles and high-pitched squeaks. "Ah *hic* think that 't's total bullshit thatcha din't git paid. Stay outta them jobs, *hic* they'll be th' death a'you."
Si, senor, those jobs will be the death of you... If the wilderness doesn't kill you first... Then- then *hic* the actual... Actual bad guys may get to you first!" Domingo hiccuped again, placing his tenth empty bottle on the bar and checking his watch with bleary, bloodshot eyes.
"Ah, it is time I should be picking up my shipment and leaving. I will see you around, I guess?" The mercenary nodded either way, before making his way to Flak and Shrapnel's, picking up the crates of weapons they had supplied on an ancient dolly, and making ihs way carefully up the stairs, back across the bridge, over to his tank and away from Rivet.
Thomas finished his orders, and then stepped out from Gilead Point's lobby. It had been decided. Thomas, with the majority of his forces, would attempt to persuade Adam out of his crazed rampage. They would re-unite both sides, turn on the wasters and those damnable tribesman, and crush them, then re-establish an iron-grip of western and northern D.C. If this failed, Thomas would simply attempt a suicidal attack in order to get himself killed. That way, he couldn't be at balme for Moore's foolish mistakes in the coming days. Thomas watched from the trenches, standing above them and observing. The men marching before him were a sad lot. Regardless, most of them were New York veterans from 1st Legion, and the remainder were what was left of the traitorous 2nd Legion. Those few loyalists from 2nd Legion had earned Thomas' respect in not having defected to Adam's new Last Legion. They were truly the example of an ideal soldier. Immediatly marching to them, Thomas watched the sun as it was finally covered up completely by the rain which was now falling.
Hawkins watched Wheaton Armory from his perch on the hill. Behind him, Harrison and the platoon were waiting, completely silent. Hawkins pulled up his binoculars. Watching the massive amounts of troops, Hawkins couldn't help but feel nervous. Finally, his eyes met his suspected target. Adam Kowalski. "Harrison," Hawkins whispered, "get me that sniper rifle from Anderson." Harrison complied, bringing forth the rifle. It was completely suicidal, yes. But if Hawkins did kill him, they could end the entire conflict and re-unite both sides. "Harrison, get the platoon ready to start sprinting on a mile run, yes?" Hawkins said sarcastically, and loaded the rifle. Adjusting the scope, his crosshars met Adam's distinct set of power armor, the sights resting on his head.
Stefanie had to be losing her marbles. She stepped out from the doorway and no one was there. She sighed as she felt her body relax. She reached into her pocket and popped in a Buffout. No reason at all, other than her addiction. She wanted to kick it, because when there was no Buffout around, she felt like shit. But now, Buffout was in huge supply after finding that drug store. She had enough to last for weeks. Months even. Wow, she thought to herself all alone and I think about my drugs. I need some social interaction. Jeeves was nice and all, but he was so butlerly. Most of his responses were "Yes Ma'am, No Ma'am." Stefanie decided she'd head for Rivet city. Maybe cash in some of the day's find for some caps. Visit Cantelli's for some Buffout, and see what was shaking at the Muddy Rudder. Gary's was good for food, but Stefanie liked to lay low. Old habit from her slave days. And that Sister guy was walking around there. Slaving bastard. Stefanie had levelled with him weeks ago. He said one word to, about, or around her, she'd stomp his nose out the back of his head, rip his head off, rip his arm off, and use his arm to bat his head off the flight deck like a baseball into the bay. She chuckled to herself. That was the Buffout talking. Or was it? Maybe she'd do that anyway when she got there. She sat down to eat some lunch first. MMM, Pork N' Beans!
Riley heard something to his left, around the large building, so he sent Cat to investigate. He heard Cat growl and then jump on somebody and a small shriek. It sounded like somebody Riley knew. When Riley turned the corner he found Pork n' Beans splattered everywhere and Cat laying on top of a struggling Stefanie McRae. "If you'd just stop eating Pork n' Beans around me maybe this wouldn't happen.." Riley said with a laugh.
Strauss grinned to himself as he opened an ammunition box to reveal it was filled with several dozen 5mm rounds. Should fetch a pretty penny at Flak and Shrapnel's, he thought. He looked out from the vantage point to notice the distinct lack of Riley or Cat in the visible vicinity. Stuffing the box in Worthington's storage compartment, he began to climb down the rubble-ridden pathway, almost tripping over several times due to the hindrance of his Power Armor. As he managed to get back on the ground, he heard Riley's voice coming from around the corner of a nearby large building, so he went around to investigate. He then burst out laughing.
Stefanie pushed Cat off of her and got to her feet. She looked up to see both Riley and Conor Strauss laughing their posteriors off. If there'd been mutants around they'd come running with how loud they were laughing, but with no mutants, Stefanie was free to express her discontent to Cat. "Bad Cat, BAD! Very BAD!" she said, shaking her finger at Cat. The pooch looked at her confusedly and then began licking the Pork N' Beans off the ground. Stefanie shook her head and looked up at Riley. "You now owe me some Pork N' Beans!" she said loudly. She smiled. It was good to see these two again. "You boys out for a stroll?" she said, putting her hands on her hips. Between the laughter Strauss managed to tell her they were headed for Rivet City. Stefanie winked and pointed at the two, before grabbing Riley in a headlock. "That means you can buy me lunch when we get there, eh Rilo?" she said, grinning. It was nice to have some human interaction again.
Vrrrr... the growl of a diesel engine, the clunking of loose metal and jangling of poorly-attached treads could be heard about two hundred yards south of Stefanie, Riley and Cat's position. The angry sounding vehicle soon rolled into view- a dilapidated, turret-less Sherman Tank with with a scrap-metal trailer crudely attached to the rear by a crudely attatched trailer hitch. A pair of floodlights on top of the tank flickered to life, settling on top of Stefanie. Soon, a man's head popped out from between the headlights, shadowed by the backwash of the floodlights. A Hispanic voice caled out, "Hey, who's there?"
Stefanie paused for a second, then dropped Riley, who fell to the ground with a thud, then rolled behind some rubble. Stefanie then scampered behind some rubble as well, while Strauss and Worthington moved toward another building. "You first!" Sefanie shouted back as Cat began growling. Stefanie was getting upset. All these setbacks. Cat eating her Pork N' Beans, this guy with his goofy vehicle, it was getting dark and Rivet City would be closing soon. She peeked up from behind her cover. The guy was yelling something in some language she didn't understand. The only thing she could make out was that he sounded drunk? "I can't understand what the hell you are saying," Stefanie slowly annunciated. She heard the engines turn off and then footsteps coming toward her. Her fingers flexed in her Power Fist. She was in a bad mood now.
Domingo turned his head back and forth across the top of the tank, looking about briefly to see if anyone else was around before he pulled himself out of the tank and stumbled off the side, none-too-elegantly faceplanting into the hard-packed dirt of the Wasteland's floor. Taking a few seconds to lift himself up, he pushed himself to his feet and shook his head. In perfect english, he responded: "Sorry, I'm a little bit inebriated at the moment. Who are you, and where are you going?"
Stefanie started chuckling. "I can tell that Mister. I'm Stefanie McRae. We were headed to Rivet City. Cat ate my Pork N' Beans," she said, pointing to the dog that was emerging. Strauss, Worthington and Riley were all getting up now. The drunk man looked at the dog and then at Stefanie, then at the dog, then back at Stefanie, then once more at the dog before saying, "That's not a cat." The group started laughing as it dawned on the man that Cat was the dog's name. Inebriated indeed. "And who might you be?" Stefanie asked.
Roarke was pitched backwards by the impact of the bullet. Either the shooter wasn't a confident sniper, or they were aiming for his head and hadn't compensated for a drop in the bullet's trajectory. Roarke lay still for a second, taking a few deep breaths to make sure he didn't have any injuries his adrenaline was trying to hide. He signalled to the nearby soldiers that he was ok, and stood back up. His own snipers were already returning fire. Three of them recorded kills. Only the Crusade or BoS would have had the backbone to take a shot like that. Given that he was rapidly approaching Crusade territory, Moore was trying to have him eliminated so as to avoid a war he couldn't win. By killing Roarke and letting hundreds, if not thousands (Roarke had yet to complete a head count) of bloodthirsty soldiers loose on the Wastelands.
He waved a medic away. His armor had stopped the shot. Thankfully. At least the lad that had shot at them earlier wasn't still following them. He'd have used an AP round and taken off Roarke's head. But the Colonel had more important things to consider. One of his patrols had brought in a CCI agent. The poor spook had probably spent enough time stripped to his underwear with his feet in a bucket if ice-water. The interrogation probably wouldn't take long. And if the man was unco-operative, Roarke would just have to cut off one of his feet, give him a single crutch, and force him to march with them until he broke.
"Hello, my name is R-I-L-E-Y. Riley. Repeat?" Riley said to the foreign man, Oh, I guess he's smart, shit he thought, "And yeah, my dog is named Cat,".
Domingo hiccuped a bit as he turned slowly towards Riley. "You're... You're a strange one, Riley." He then stumbled as he turned back towards Cat, who was standing off in a shaded portion of the area where the Sherman was parked. He looked briefly at the dog and its odd-looking backpack before he turned back from the dog and back towards Stefanie.
"Well it seems fate or some similar set of circumstances has bound us together. I just came from Rivet City, and I was going to drop a weapons shipment at Megaton... But I can turn around for a quick detour." He gestured back towards El Oso. "I reckon if you sit on top, you'll fit just fine..." A couple of shouts from the ruins briefly drew his attention. Most of them are explitives, which only means one thing.
"Raiders," Domingo hissed as he quickly ran over to El Oso and removed the wires from the batteries powering the floodlights, plunging the group into total darkness. "In the trailer, quickly." The Hispanic wheelman whispered harshly as he pulled his .32 pistol from his jacket and crept towards the ruins.
Thomas cursed Roarke's name several times, punched his messenger, and sat down in the trenches. Fuck! Who had authorized the men to open fire? It was hopeless now! They'd have to fight the enemy in an open, fucked-up battle. Worse, it would be their own flesh and blood. He looked towards his messnger. The unfortunate soul had been the one with whom Thomas had relieved his anger. Tossing a bottle cap to him, Thomas gave another set of orders to him for relay to CCI, then set about the business of attempting a crude set of negotiations. If it failed, maybe he could call reinforcements from New York. No... that wouldn't work. It would take days, maybe weeks, for any type of help to arrive from the north. Frustrated, Thomas leaned against a trench wall, slamming his fist into the mud and stnading in the rain.
Stefanie quickly hopped up on top of the Sherman, as did the rest of the group. Domingo hopped in and Stefanie heard the engine growl as the tank lurched forward. Stefanie looked toward the shadows. The raiders mustn't've been around long, the ruins had been nearly totally clear for the last month. Regardless, the tank swung back around and headed for Rivet City. She looked back at the trailer where Worthington and Cat were, then back at Riley and Strauss, who were readying ranged weapons. Stefanie scampered along the hitch to where the weapons shipment was and looked for a ranged weapon. A Power Fist was not going to do much good if a firefight broke out from the tank. She'd left her Scoped .44 with Jeeves to travel lighter. She popped a Buffout as she dug out a hunting rifle and a few rounds of .32 ammo. She loaded the clip and sat tight, waiting for anything or anyone to appear from the darkness. She looked at a minigun next to her and shook her head. She had no clue how to properly operate that thing. Strauss looked at her quizzically, judging her confusion, then shrugged as she noticed him. Great, now they think I'm a drugged up idiot who lives for Pork N' Beans she thought. Maybe she just should've stayed home with Jeeves and ridden the storm out.
Gunshots. Aaron cursed. For once in the past few weeks, he was actually getting some good, well-deserved rest, and this happens. Raiders he guessed, he'd seen a bunch of them around here recently. Aaron had considered relocating, but his current home was so isolated. Nobody knew of it, it was out of the way from any wasteland creatures to linger into, and it had a good supply of food. He rose, shoeing away a familiar rat that had been living with him, and he grabbed his Ak-47. He's had the same rifle from when he left Austin, luckily it used the same ammo as the rifles around these parts. Aaron looked to the window, seeing the thin rays of light shine through the makeshift barricade. He peered out of one of them, taking a few seconds to adjust to the light. Below him was the same Sherman tank he saw in front of Rivet city not but a few hours ago, except this time it was being chased by raiders. There were about three, maybe four people inside of the tank, two of them shooting. The raiders were casing them, running faster than the normal human. Aaron shook his head, he thought of the amount of drugs those anarchists inject each day, it made them nearly superhuman. Disgusted by these people, Aaron jutted his rifle out the gap between two boards. He aimed down the sights on one Raider readying a missile launcher and shot. The first shot hit him in the shoulder, causing him to lose grasp of the large weapon. Aaron ended it by firing another shot into the poor soul's head. His weapon was surprisingly accurate for what model it was, but Aaron has spent quite some time tinkering with it, making it 'More effective'. He smiled and continued to fire. Two raiders fell dead, one laid bleeding out of a very serious wound. Unlike his forgiving brother, Aaron did not care for the lives of strangers. The only people he really cared for was his family, and one of them was missing right now.
The tank riders looked at the source of the shooting, that led to Aaron. He kicked some of the boards out and showed himself. "There's a safer route to Rivet City, just take your next right and keep going until you hit the downed bridge! I'll meet you guys there!" He shouted from the window, pointing his arms to the right. Aaron didn't take the time to hear a response, he just grabbed his things and left for the downed bridge. So much for that home...
Stefanie ducked as shots whizzed by her head as she sat in the trailer. She nozed her hunting rifle over the rail of the trailer and fired a couple of shots at the approaching Raiders. One shot hit out of the five she fired as she emptied her clip. She hit the raider in the shoulder, but to her dismay, he got back up and kept coming. She cursed. The raiders' fire pattered across the hull of the tank. She fired another clip off. The shosts all missed. The bouncing of the tank, combined with her lack of awesome shooting ability made it very tough to achieve a hit. She popped in a Buffout and fired off another clip. She stood up and looked ahead of the tank as the raiders began breaking off pursuit. Rivet City was thankfully within huge view. The large looming aircraft carrier so very inviting. Stefanie was looking forward to a drink at the Muddy Rudder. The Market was closeed for the night, but the Rudder was always open. The Sherman ground to a halt and Stefanie got out, putting the hunting rifle back in the trailer. She put her Power Fist back on as a figure emerged from the darkness.
Riley was much better with his telekinesis right now, he could lift one of them at a time as long as Riley didn't move. But that was a setback, so Riley didn't bother trying, instead he just jammed the weapons of his enemies. Riley then began to move debris from a building on top of the raiders.
(moved convo to talk page)
Strauss was spraying glowing red death as fast as he could tap the trigger of his Laser Rifle in the general direction of the Raiders. Bastards wanted his robot, his armour, his weapons, this guy's tank. And probably Stefanie's body. And Cat. And that random dude up there's cool haircut. They weren't getting any of it it. Not by a long shot. To Hell with ammunition conservation! One of them seemed to pause to whack his gun a bit, apparently checking for a jam, so Strauss took the liberty of incinerating his face when the distraction presented itself. He glanced over at Riley, who seemed to be in deep concentration, and shrugged. He's probably yelling at them in their heads or somethin', he thought as he dropped his rifle for a moment and prepared a grenade. "Hey, look, here's a freebie for you thieving bastards! Yeeaaaaaah!"
As Strauss's grenade exploded, a large bang could be heard on top of the building next to them, a giant rock was being rolled off the side of it. Riley's nose was bleeding, but nobody or him seemed to notice. The rock then fell off the building and landed in the crowd of raiders. (you decide how many are left k? lol.)
Aaron grasped the wall as the explosions rocked the ruined building, apparently these guys didn't hear what Aaron had said not but 5 minutes ago. Staggering to a window, he watched as a large bolder crushed a good amount of raiders on the ground level. Two or three stragglers tried to escape, only to be taken out by Aaron's bullets. He looked around, it seemed clear enough. The young fighter scaled down from the third story he was on, meeting up with the tank people as they were looting the raiders, as well as killing off survivors. He recognized one of them, the tank driver, from Rivet City. The guy still seemed a bit tipsy, but much better then from the last Aaron saw of him. Hoisting his rifle on his back, Aaron went to greet his companions. He approached the tank driver, "Ran into a bit of trouble I see, damn good thing you had that tank. They might have stolen my hair." He looked around. The man had three followers, one skinny-lookin' girl, probably an addict, and two frustrated white guys. "Quite a group here, where you guys headed?"
Fireman0504 NOTE: Stefanie is not meth-addict skinny. She has toned muscle from her pit-fighting career, which still goes on in fight bars
Stefanie dropped over the side of the trailer. She looked at the new guy who'd just emerged from the building. She placed the Huning Rifle back in the trailer as he approached. Behind them, the form of Rivet City loomed. She looked at Riley. "Hey, your nose is bleeding, "she said. He grinned lopsidedly and wiped the blood from his nose. That falling rock had really saved the day. She looked at the man who'd just approached the group. "We're headed into Rivet City," she said cheerfully, "at least I am." She flexed her bicep as she fitted her Power Fist back onto her hand. She wiggled all of her fingers to fit it properly. The man in front of them had put his gun away, so he obviously was not an enemy. Leastwise not now. Stefanie extended a hand. "Stefanie McRae," she said, winking, "and who might you be?"
Fireman0504 She knows. She's just smart enough not to mention it in front of a newcomer.
Aaron chuckled a little, he wasn't sure if this woman was trying to show off or what, but he did underestimate her. Now closer, he took back his earlier thought of her being an addict. Aaron bowed his head, "Aaron Edward Ramsey, Ma'am, no part of any organization or group, just searching for someone." He raised his head, "Pleasure to meet you." Aaron quickly glanced to his right, observing the faded figure of Rivet City. Upon looking back, he noted one of the men to Stefanie's left, a man with a bleeding nose. Aaron didn't recall any real fighting going on with the raiders, and nobody got hit or anything. He stared at the man for a few seconds, thinking. Afterward he turned back to Stefanie, "Why exactly are you lot headed to Rivet City?"
Riley wiped his bleeding nose.. and again. Finally it stopped. Headaches were gone, but now he was having random nosebleeds every time he attempted to use his ability further then he could.. "I'm Riley," he said to the new person that had appeared from the building, "Getting supplies."
Fireman0504 He used it around her at the end of the D.C. Uprising. Plus it's been a month since then. Im' sure they'd talked since then. :)
Stefanie looked at the man. "So cordial," she said to him, "it's nice to meet you." She said, smiling. She turned to take a look at Rivet City. "I was going in to trade, then I ran across these white devils and them Raiders. Now the Market is closed, so I'll prolly hit the Muddy Rudder, then shack up in the common room for the night. I don't know what these two are up to." she schuckled, giving Riley a playful shove. "Thanks for helping us out. If you're not runnin with a crowd, I'm ure you'd be welcome to run with ours, though we're kinda scattered all over D.C." Stefanie was trying to be careful not to reveal too much info. She figured she'd better stop talking soon, before she did overstep her talking bounds. You couldn't just trust everybody out here. This Ramsey seemed good enough though. "You wanna come into Rivet city?" she said, "I'll buy you a drink."
Aaron crooked his head. What did she mean by 'we're kinda scattered all over D.C'? He thought these guys were just some travelers, not some organization. With all the war going on here recently, he wouldn't be surprised if these guys were a part of it. And that's the last thing Aaron needed, a war on his hands. But he was hungry, and it was seldom that Aaron passed up a drink. Against everything he mind was telling him, he accepted the invitation. "Sounds great, and I've really got nowhere else to go, my old home just got blown up." Aaron pointed to a 6th story window, now just a crater, where his hovel used to be. Aaron stretched, he still had barley woken up. He looked to Stefanie, then to the rest. They don't look like an organization at war, but looks can be deceiving...
From the tank he heard his tipsy comrade yell something at them, most likely something about getting ti Rivet City. Aaron went with the flow and agreed, "I'm with him, we should get to the city, never know what comes out at night." Sudden memories of the monstrosities at Austin flashed through his mind, he had to take a moment to breath. Luckily nobody noticed, weakness was something never to be shown in the wasteland. Jay had told Aaron that, Jay had told Aaron everything. Slowly, Aaron walked to the tank, deep in thought.
Stefanie sat back up on the tank. Rivet City was in view. It'd only be a couple minutes. They did have to get out of the streets before nightfall. This newcomer, Aaron Ramsey, seemed like the quiet type. Troubled even. Maybe he was just weary. "So where ya from?" she said to him. "Austin," Ramsey replied. "Where is that?" Stefanie asked. Ramsey looked at her as if she'd just crawled out of a hole. (Which she did if you read an earlier post. Haha.) "Seriously," she said, "where is it?" "It's a few thousand miles southwest of here," Ramsey said. Stefanie nodded. It was time to stop asking questions for now. "You a local?" Ramsey said to her. "Me?" she said surprised, "I'm not, I'm from Zanadu, up in Baltimore. I was from here originally, then I got sold." Ramsey looked at her sympathetically. "You're a slave then?" Stefanie lowered her gaze to the ground. "Used to be," she said, "they sold me from D.C. after I killed my first master when I was seventeen. He tried to rape me. The guy who bought me put me in the pit fights in Zanadu. It's a slaver town. Full of fight pits, brawl bars, and of course The Cell. Spent the last five years killin' and cripplin' men and women that they sent me up against. I still fight now, but I do it for a living. Can't be more honest than the blood, sweat, and tears put into it. Gets me caps and prestige in Zanadu. I'm 22 now and I'm pretty much feared in that town. Nothin' says 'don't mess with me' like snappin' a guy's neck in front of half the city. My last master was killed in a slaving raid when I was 21. We had a bet; if I outlived him, I'd be freed. That's what happened. It was kind of sad though, because even though he was my master, he was pretty good to me. Didn't beat me, or hurt me, or try to rape me. Taught me a ton about fighting and shooting. He respected me. He just needed me to make him caps, that was the deal. I got a healthy cut of course, but slaves in Zanadu can't do much with caps. I was champion on five circuits and fought twice in The Cell." Ramsey simply nodded, listening. "Sorry," she said, "didn't mean to bore you." Stefanie looked back at the ground. She thought for a second that she'd spilled way too much info on herself. Oh well, she was close enough to be able to handle herself if he tried something, though, she figured he wouldn't.
The tank ground forward and closed the distance to Rivet City's ramp in a few minutes. The group climbed down and headed up the gangway. "Store's closed," Stefanie grumbled, "stupid raiders." The little group of people walked across the bridge to the ship. The night guard nodded a welcome and Stefanie looked over to see Strauss stop the drunken Domingo from falling off the deck. They went inside. "Muddy Rudder anyone?" Stefanie said, "first round is on me."
Domingo, still wearing his leather tank driver's helmet, stumbled across the gangway to Rivet City, once havint to be steadied by Strauss to keep himself from taking a plunge over the rusty railing into the radiation-permeated Potomac below. Nodding a quiet thanks, Domingo turned towards Stefanie. "Never one to turn down a drink, last one there buys the first round!" He shouted, making a drunken lope (it couldn't really be called a run) towards the Stairwell.
"Howbout first?" Riley said when Domingo was out of ear range, since Riley didn't really feel like running right now anyways.
Marcus Andrews sat in the muddy ruder with his XO Alexander.The crusade were dieing and in his view that could only be a good thing.He paused to look at the note Alex had given him regarding what was left of there forces.It was definetly not good they had left there Opressors in new york and out of the 50 reinforcements from new york only 5 of them were in power armor.
He looked up from his drink to see Strauss a Girl and that tank driver enter the room "hello boys drinks on me"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 19:56, 27 April 2009 (UTC)
Weston looked up at the name of Strauss, before his eyes go wider.
"Strat? Where'd you go man? " Weston said in a druken tone. However, he had manged to regain his blance and lose some of his, well, drunkness.
Stumbling on over to Struass, he noticed both Riley and Stefine.
"Hey guys! Long time no see? Whos the other two guys with ya?"
Oh, great, one of the assholes from the cave, Riley thought to himself, "Hel-" Riley said but was cut off by a random drunk screaming jibberish. Then just as Riley tried to say it again, the drunk screamed again and then threw a bottle of vodka at Stefanie. Stefanie was outraged at the vodka all over her clothes, and whacked the man in the face with her Power-Fist before he could throw his Whiskey. The Security then came and beat up the drunk before throwing him off the boat. (Can you have Jeeves just randomly fins your location right about now? I wanna add weapons to him!)
"Rivet City justice for ya, baby!" Strauss whooped as a Power Fist and then a police baton came crashing down on the drunk's head, which, in turn, sent him crashing to the floor. Two uniformed Security officers mumbled something to eachother before picking the man up and carrying him upstairs, presumably for deposition in the Potomac. "I'd hate to be him tomorrow morning. Shit, anyone smoking in here? 'Cause you know what vodka is like, one little spark near Stefanie and she is--" Strauss was silenced by a terrifying glare from the clearly-not-impressed former slave.
Jack was heading back to Rivet city. He and Jacob split up to further avoid the Crusade, and he was reaching the building. Seeing a tank outside, smelling like some baked potatoes strips he had eaten before, which had been a delicacy in pre-war times apparently. Going into Rivit City, he headed down the stairs. The shops were all closed, so he figured he might as well rent a room. He walked around, looking for the hotel. Accidentally, he walked into the local bar. Right before he walked out, he noticed a few familiar faces.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 23:41, 27 April 2009 (UTC)
Weston reagianed his blance after a guard kncoekd into him in order to stop the yelling Drunk. Turning his head back to the group, Weston grinned.
"So, how ya'll been? Have'nt seen you guys since...well, Jersulam!"
Weston had taken a seat at one of the stools, Weston looked around the bar. Nearly empty, save for a couple people he did'nt know. Just this little renuion of people...and a guy who smelt like crap. looking up towards the entrace, he saw a face that he recongized after a second.
"Jack! Your here! Were just missing Jacob and this will be a real party!"
"Your missing Holmes," Riley added, taking a sip of his whiskey.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:11, 28 April 2009 (UTC)
"Who, blind guy? Well, i did'nt really like him. He could'nt take a joke very well."
"Weston, if you want to call a guy a dick, call him a dick. By the way, how much beer have you drunk exactly? Aren't you a minor?" Weston then tried to flip off Jack, but held up the wrong finger.
Aaron sat on a stool as these people conversed on old times, it seemed to be somewhat of a reunion to them. Of course, Aaron hadn't been recognized by any of them considering he'd been searching the desolate of wastes for Jay in the past 2 and a half years. He heard one of them mention Jacob, Aaron wondered if he meant Jacob Vaughton. Jacob was Aaron's only tie to his lost brother. He had heard of the Brotherhood Outcast's battle against the Crusade in Fairfax, and from what records show, a Defender Ramsey was in that battle. Aaron had no doubt that it was Jay, it had to be. After this battle, the Outcasts headed West. Aaron often wondered if his sibling left with them, but he had to be sure. Jacob meant something because he was said to have fought in the same battle, alongside Aaron's beloved brother. He would find out soon of his brother's whereabouts, soon enough he hoped. Aaron downed a glass of whiskey, he felt excluded from the group, all of them talking about previous times together and the such. He'd stay with them, for the time being.
Fireman0504 Sorry Krushster, I got plans for Jeeves
Stefanie was pissed. She was covered in Vodka, and now Strauss was cracking jokes. To be clear, she wasn't pissed at Strauss, she wanted to make more of a mess of the drunk who'd been thrown out. She took a shot of whiskey and a Buffout. She grinned at Strauss, "Where do you think they took that drunk?" she said, "I wanna go use him as a rug." Strauss and Stefanie and Riley chuckled. Stefanie noticed Aaron sitting by himself. "Hey Loner," she called, "come on and meet some folks, have a drink." Aaron shook his head. He was clearly thinking of other things. Stefanie turned back to the group. "Hey there Weston! How's D.C. been treatin ya?" Before Weston could answer the door to the Rudder burst open again. "YEW FUGGIN' BATCH!" a slurry voice said loudly. Stefanie turned, smiling. That drunk had somehow gotten back in. This was going to be fun. Weston tried to grab her shoulder but wasn't quick enough. She levelled the man with a left-handed punch with her brass knuckles, then stomped hard on the back of his head, smashing his teeth all over the floor. She dragged him over to the bar and ordered two drinks. The first she splashed on his prone body. Then she stepped up on his chest and stood on him drinking the the other one. She recalled stunts like this against slavers in the bars at Zanadu. Add some humiliation to the defeat. She laughed and looked over at Strauss. "Told ya," she chuckled, shrugging. He shook his head laughing. "Who wants a round?" Stefanie shouted to the group. She couldn't understand what they said, so she assumed it was a yes. She looked down at the drunk she was still standing on. "You are rude and don't get one," she said smuggly. He just winced and barely struggled on the verge of unconciousness. "Order up everyone," she said, "it's on me!"
Marcus laughed as rhe drunk hit the floor."Alexander drag that man out" he pulled up his chair and pulled out his Balma "if you want something stronger drink this" he passed the bottle along.
Domingo looked towards Stefanie, a half-level smile spreading across his glowing face. "I'll order up, then!" He slurred, calling the barkeep over and calling in several bottles of vodka for himself and anyone else who may want them."
"Give me two! I haven't gotten drunk in over two months!" Jack walked over, and picked up a bottle of Vodka. He then started to start drinking it as fast as he could.
Riley was on his last drink, hes had too much. He then began to open his last can of Pork n' Beans, which, surprisingly, Cat didn't try to claw at and lick off of everybody. Once he was done, he seen Jack start to open one, and Cat jumped on Jack and his Pork n' Beans splattered on everybody around him.. which was Stefanie, Weston, and him.
--Cerebral plague 02:01, 29 April 2009 (UTC)
Jack had something jump on his back, he didn't really know what it was. However, instincts came to him as he immediately drew his knife, and tried to cut what ever was on hims throat. He stopped right before realizing it was Ryley's dog, and lowered the knife. He got up, and put the dog off him, and watched as the dog licked the pork and beans off his poncho.
Stefanie looked around. She was a bit tipsy. She stepped down off of the drunk guy she was standing on, who was now unconcious after she had stomped on his head a couple times. She now had more Pork N' Beans on her. She slid over to the bar next to Jack. Looking back, she watched as the two Rivet City Security Guards dragged the now unconscious and somewhat bloody man out. Again. This time she was confident he was not coming back. She ordered up a shot of whiskey for herself and a bowl of Pork N' Beans. Cat had them and now Stefanie needed some. She popped in a Buffout and looked at Riley. "Keep Cat away from my supper," she said, winking. She dumped a bag of caps on the table to pay for all her comrades' drinks. The bartender passed her a bowl of Pork N' Beans and her shot. Took the shot and began eating her beans, then gave Cat a little look as he approached. "Riley, I swear if he jumps up, I'll make YOU my next rug," Riley chuckled and called Cat, who came back. She finished up and stood up, dizzily grabbing the bar. "I think I'm gonna head up to the common room and to bed," she said. "Night all, you guys gonna be here in the morning?" Without waiting for an answer she headed up to the common room for some sleep.
Setting up for the battling part of the RP... though the socializing and barfighting is a good time because that's Stefanie's home environment...
Aaron finished his last shot, that was... 7, he thinks. Although it takes quite a lot of drink to get Aaron drunk, but 7 shots of Vodka was enough to get him a bit careless. Looking around, he had noticed Stefanie had left for bed. Aaron turned to the clock, it was only 11:21, Guess it was her bedtime... Meh, she was too kinky anyway, there ought to be some other poon in this dump. Aaron rose from his chair, stumbling only a little. He looked back to Riley, the man seemed silent, depressed even. Across the bar the Tank driver, whom he had still not gotten the name of, was busy gambling with some unfriendly faces. Strauss and Jack were in mid conversation with a duo of former(or present)soldiers. Aaron didn't spot Weston, but he wasn't really looking. The tipsy Austinite walked past Riley's dog- or cat- or whatever he wanted the damn thing to be. He scratched it's head as it was licking up some Pork & Beans, "Good Dog- I mean, Cat.... Ah fuck it, Good animal." He heard Riley chuckle from his stool, Aaron mumbled something and moved on. Just as he was going to give in and get some sleep, a certain woman, Trinnie, entered the bar. Aaron had been with her before, twice by his count, but she truly never got old. He approached her. It was time Aaron had some fun.
Jacob, having arrived with Jack, was stood back, arms folded. Mostly, it was to take up less space as he leaned against the wall of the muddy rudder. He was so still that in spite of his size, people didn't seem to notice him until they were right next to him, which led to many drunks jumping back and falling over as they realised there was a large man in a duster with an assault rifle over his back standing less than two feet from them. He watched everyone in the bar, even Brock, the bouncer. Stefanie had been getting quite drunk, but she had just lef for the common room for some sleep. He almost felt sorry for the fella who had followed her up, talking to her and standing real close. Security would either find him screaming and tied to a bed, or screaming and tied to a grenade.
He scratched Cat's ears as the dog sauntered over to him. In spite of his dislike for the vast majority of the human race, he liked dogs. Couldn't care less for cats, the way radiation had affected them turned them into big mean-spirited things the size of a mule. He didn't really want to think of what that mountain lion mutant thing would have done had he not introduced it to the business end of a shotgun. But dogs, they were great. Feral in most cases, but otherwise, great. He sat down at the bar, next to Jackal. He didn't like drinking. His fast metabolism made the stuff go right to his head, and that led to accusations of being a lightweight, in spite of him being able to drink for longer and recover much faster (in fact, he had no idea what a hangover felt like, he always slept through them) than anyone he had ever wound up drinking in the vicinity of. He drank a little bottle of whiskey, and then one of burboun. He needed to catch up to everyone else.
Domingo was working his way through his third bottle of vodka and was now pretty clearly inebriated, as his face was beet red and he was supporting himself by using the table as a counterweight for his seat. He looked across the table at the three shady types in front of him. Who are these guys? He blearily thought to himself, as one started talking about something. He mentioned "shipment" and somehow immediately understood what he meant.
With a drunken roar, he rolled the whole table- vodka, food, cutlery and people included- over onto the floor and pinned it on top of the shady guys, managing to extricate their purpose with a few shouts: They had indeed meant to buy the weapons shipment off them to supply an anti-Ghoul militia in the area, no doubt working with the crusade. Too drunk to perform any other acts (or even really hold his gun), Domingo stumbled to his feet and also headed for the common room. Leaving his vodka on the bar.
Karen and her squad were sitting in the ruined parking lot outside of Rivet City, "Some Crusade ones were just receiving a 'package' in there," one squadmate said, "Yeah, and we are here to destroy it or take it for ourselves," the other squadmate said. "The package is in the common room, the sellers are in the Muddy Rudder, a bar. We're going in to take the package, don't kill unless you need too. Put on your Rivet City security uniforms now." Karen said to her squad, and about five minutes later their Black-Ops armor was in a box beside a trashcan, "Lets move."
Riley laughed at the table being thrown at them, and wondered where everybody went. About 10 seconds later Riley downed ANOTHER vodka, and then passed out. He had a short dream of burning to death, wonder what that meant. (No, just a coincidence, not gonna happen)
Stefanie rolled overas the door burst open and Domingo stumbled in. He looked drunkenly over to the right. There was a man tied to the bed with four socks and a pillow case. One sock was tied in his mouth, gagging him. Stefanie looked over at him and shrugged, then looked at Domingo. "He wanted to play," she smirked, "I'm just saving him for later." The man shook his head rapidly and mumbled through the gag. Stefanie stood up and helped Domingo to another bed, tucking him in. "Just sleep it off pal." she chuckled. He mumbled something as she tucked him in. She looked back over at the tied up guy. "I'll get to you later," she said, "I'd do it now but... well... I'm tired." she grinned. She layed back down in her bed and rolled over.
I'll be working for the next twelve hours.
MArcus stood up from the bar "michell keep an eye out for the others im going to the room's" he walked past the stairway and made his way to the botom deck.As he aproached the room a voice called out "Password" Marcus checked it in his mind "chocolate" the door opened and he walked in.
Riley woke up from his dream, and, he didn't feel as drunk anymore and seen Strauss had carried him all the way up to the Common Room. And, somehow, Cat had managed to get a hold of the twenty cans of Pork n' Beans that were in his backpack.. as everything was covered in it.
"... You did? That's awesome!" Strauss whooped drunkenly, throwing a fist into the air. "Did I tell... tell ya about the time me, Jack and a few others were getting chased by Crusaders and dogs and shit? I musta killed like, five hundred people that day! Hah!" He paused to take a swig from the bottle of vodka in his hands. "Yeah, you did, ten minutes ago," One of the soldiers he and Jack had been speaking to remarked. Strauss paused. Ten minutes had passed? Odd. He turned away from the group, almost falling over in the process, to face his ever-vigilant robot, which was hovering boredly until it noticed that attention was being directed its way. "Worthington, how... much have I drank? D'ya know?" Strauss asked, concern and alcohol lining his voice. "Consulting recent observational memory..." Worthington responded, traling off. The two soldiers and Jack were looking in his direction now. Worth seemed to hold it off for as long as possible. "... one bottle, Master, and approximately another half if my guesstimation of the volume of the one in your hand proves correct." Strauss could have sworn there was a certain gloating smugness to his robot's voice. A fit of sniggering broke out behind him. "...Count that again?" Strauss said, bewildered. "One and a half bottles, Master." The reply was too fast for him to have actually done a proper analysis and the smugness was so much more apparent. Jack and the two soldiers broke down into laughter. Confused, Strauss took a step forwards, and almost tripped over a stool as he did.
Jacob was starting to lose the liking he held for that particular dog. Getting Pork 'n' Beans everywhere. A-fucking-gain. Jacob wiped some beans off his shoulder, and cleaned the bean-coated parts of his duster off with some dirty water. He needed to find one of those spiffy leather ones like Skyler wore (he doesn't know Skyler's dead). Blood, guts, pork, beans, everything just wiped off the stuff. He was not going to try and make one himself, given that he had struggled to sew all the holsters into this one. He had discovered the hard way that sewing is harder than it looks, sewing his duster to his trousers on more than one occassion.
He watched as everyone else got wasted, as he just sat there, staring into his drink. GNR was on, and Three Dog was playing some song called "Thrill is Gone", by someone called, something King. Blues. It suited Jacob's mood. He stood up and wandered up through the bridge tower, ignoring the people as they walked by. He stepped out onto the flight deck, and spread his arms out to the side as the wind hit him. It felt strange, standing on this flight deck, without Super Mutants taking pot-shots at him. It felt good.
Cromartie was exhausted from all his walking, “this has to be it” he thought, looking at the large rusty air craft carrier. This was his first time he saw a boat of that size, there was nothing like that in the United Kingdom where he was, the boat he travelled from wasn’t even half the size. Cromartie made his was up the metal tower, connecting to the carrier, slowly approaching the door. There was a guard posted outside, wearing black shiny combat armour, also wearing a security helmet.
Rivet City Security Guard: “We want no trouble new comer”.
Cromartie: “I wont”.
Cromartie pushed the rusty metal door open, his eyes noticed the sign saying “ Muddy Rudder Bar”, he followed these sign down the stairs, he journey made him thirsty and he needed a rest, also thinking that maybe he could get some information on the surrounding area. Cromartie opened to door slowly trying not to get any attention in the bar, pulling up a stall he sat down and asked for a drink.
Im not good at speech grammar, hope this is good
Domingo rolled in his sleep on the cot, somehow managing to gather the pillow in the straps tying the tank captain's helmet to his head and rolling it over on top of himself. Awakened by the sudden pressure atop his head, the tank driver-drunkard was jerked awake and briefly struggled underneath the cot, eventually dragging pillow and helmet off his head and onto the floor. Velasquez checked his watch and noted it was about three-thirty in the morning, a long time since he had first showed up. Shrugging, the latino pushed himself off the cot and headed for the Muddy Rudder, hoping to pick up a quick breakfast from the small establishment.
Jackal had noticed the newcomer arriving at the bar. Not a local accent. English, if memory served. How the hell did an Englisman get to DC? And more impotantly, how stupid was this guy, sitting next to an angry-looking Ghoul with the Tricolour (Irish Flag) printed on his shoulder pad? Jackal was in no mood to gt angry at him for no reason, so he just sat there, watching the little Englishman. No sense taking risks. After all, "The Empire on Which the Sun Never Sets" was just a fancy way of saying God didn't trust them in the dark. (I'm joking here).
Jacob leaned on the pew in front of him in Rivet City's church. He sighed, as he looked up at a picture of the Crucifiction. He wondered if there was a heaven (not that he'd be headed for it), ever since Fairfax. Actually, ever since Old Olney, when that Deathclaw had nearly impaled him. He was thinking about the Outcasts now. They'd come in really handy with this war between the Crusade and the Last Legion spilling over into every part of the Capitol Wastes.
Riley looked at Cat, "I vow never to eat Pork n' Beans around you, anymore," he said. Riley was wondering what he would eat, maybe some Salisbury Steak or something.. He then fell back to sleep.
Karen and her team had infiltrated Rivet City, the security guards were dumb enough to believe that Karen was one of them. "Idiots," she said out loud, "Let's back into this room, get our stealth-boys out maybe?" the second squadmate said, and they did that. Then, just for the heck of it, Karen grabbed the first person she seen, (not one of her squadmates) and pulled him to her and burned the guy to death in horrific blue flames.
Cromartie was drinking his drink, he noticed a Ghoul looking at him. He didn’t stare much at the ghoul, as he thought it might be rude, sipping his drink. Cromartie was thinking about his past, all the hatred, and savage ways, he leaned over to the Ghoul and asked him.
Cromartie: “Excuse me, can you tell me about the surrounding area.”……
Waiting for the ghoul to reply, he didn’t look pleased at Cromartie.
Jacob jumped. Had he just heard a scream from down the corridor? Definitely. Or was that just the burboun talking? He sat down and listened a little more intently. Then he saw a sober person rush past, toward that room that was always empty. He got up and followed, slowly, so as not to get a headrush, which, coupled with the amount he had just drunk (he counted three bottles, and a few beers Strauss had insisted on buying him), could prove catastrophic in the neatly packed seats of the church.
He stepped around a corner, his M1911 drawn, and watched as the woman walked away from the room, shrugging. She looked at him and said something about ashes and nothing else. Jacob shook his head. That wasn't right. The last time he had heard a scream like that was . . . when he had lit a raider up like a lantern. Those were the death screams of a burning man. Jacob went to investigate. As he opened the door, he did indeed see nothing but ash. So he closed it, and slammed the isolation bolt home. Now that the door could only be opened from the outside, anything that may have been in there was staying in there.
Unless they're telekinetic and can open the door that way. If they're not, someone will open it at some point anyway.
Jackal looked at the stranger. Ponce. Asking about the area.
"Well, its a big place. There are some really nice folks over in a place called Evergreen Mills. They love it when you walk right in and slap 'em on the back of the head. It's like some kind of tribal greeting. Same up in Paradise Falls." Jackal muttered.
I kind of G2G sorry guys--Calonord 19:58, 29 April 2009 (UTC)
Karen was melting the door, hard, but possible. It slowly turned red, and then blue, and finally white hot. A gaping hole started to emerge in the middle where her hands were, and she could pull the bar off the front, and get out. "Move, I'll go to the Common Room where the package is, and you two go to the Muddy Rudder, find the seller."
Jacob strode back into the Muddy Rudder and sat down next to Jackal, on the far side from some stranger who was asking about the friendly people of Paradise Falls and Evergreen Mills. Jacob was about to take a pop at the apparent Raider sympathizer, until he heard Jackal talking about how much they liked it when you shouted at them from a long way off, and how they fired their guns as a form of greeting. Jacob had to make a conscious effort not to smile his crooked smile. He looked over at Strauss who was now standing on a table, talking and miming the escape from Jerusalem to a growing group of women and children. Then he looked around the room again, spoting a stranger, with dreadlocks and a strange smile on his face. Jacob nodded to him. He could swear he had heard that man introduce himself as a Ramsey to some strangers earlier.
Domingo was wandering past the empty room Jacob had just sealed when he noticed the scent of something burning. Looking around, he noticed nothing amiss, but the blood suddenly rushed to his head and he was forced to lean over. He placed his hand against the door and steadied himself for a second, only to encounter, in a very painful manner, the results of Kate's handiwork- the destabilized door tipped over and Domingo plunged through right after it. The double *thud* of Domingo and the door echoed all the way to the Muddy Rudder.
Coming to after about thirty seconds, Domingo found himself face-down in a pile of ashes. Sputtering as he twisted around, pushing himself off the ground and brushing the ashes off his face, Domingo immediately ran for the Muddy Rudder.
Colonel Roarke had given marching orders three quarters of an hour ago. The 7th Hell Zulus were up and ready, and the rest of the Last Legion were about halfway through taking down their tents and loading them back on the trucks and pack Brahmin. He observed his army as it grew again, as several units of Crusaders had arrived in the night to join them. He was whirling his Officer Sword through his hand, spinning and rotating it, trying to stave off boredom.They were beginning the march on Gilead now. And about time too. Now that the supply units had caught up, they could go gung-ho for the place. And when they arrived, it would rain blood.
"Lets go!" He shouted as the campfires were put out and the last tents were packed and stowed. "We march on Gilead Point. There, we will strike the first blow against the Crusade. We will shake the ground with our fury. Let Fear be our harbinger, may death walk as our servant and let sorrow stagger in our wake. We will leave nothing but widows and orphans behind."
In spite of the brutality implied in that last sentence, the soldiers following him cheered. They wanted to bring the Crusade down as much as he did. However, wanting to do something and doing something were two different things. He had felt it himself, the revulsion towards killing those he had once called brothers.
Cromartie still drinking from his drink, he nearly finished it. He pulled out a wod of cash and handed it to the bartender.
Cromartie: "Another one please".
Cromartie looked around, he enjoyed being in the bar, everyone was doing there own thing. No fights or arguements, Cromartie could see him getting use to this.
Jack got up, and started walking towards the door. It was 4:00 A.M., and he was going to sleep. When walking towards the door, Domingo rushed into the room, clearly exhausted. Jack walked past him, as he started yelling about something. He was personally to hung over to give a shit. All he wanted to do was go to his room, and sleep. Going down the hallway, he noticed an odd shimmer...
Captain Thomas stood watch from the rained down trenches, his binoculars in hand. "They're marching now, aren't they?" Captain Reust said, his hand resting on the ball of the hilt of his officer sword as the rain continued to pour. Thomas sighed. "Yep. Nothing we can do to stop them now. They'll smash and pillage until we're all dead and burning at the stake, just like at Yonkers last week." Thomas said, still eyeing the enemy from a distance through the rain that had grown heavier. Reust slapped Thomas on the shoulder. "We both knew it was coming. There was nothing you could do to prevent it." Reust said resigningly, and walked back towards Gilead Point's lobby area.
Roarke watched through the rain. His binoculars could pick out the men on the walls. The artillery would be done setting up in about five minutes. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his sword, sheathed at his side, then reached back and drew his field ripper. He performed a few stretches and swings with the heavy weapon. It weighed about as much as a Super Sledge, but Roarke was used to the weight and balance of the immense weapon. For safety, he didn't turn it on. Eventually, man and weapon became one, as if the ripper was a part of his arm, an extension of himself. Of course, he was careful to stay out of the range of Gilead's arc of fire.
A runner charged up to tell him that the sappers had finished their preparations. Roarke smiled. Even with the slippery mud, which would require resetting of the guns after each firing, the big guns would give them the advantage.
"Fire!" Roarke yelled as he waved his ripper in the air. The big guns roared in response. Lobbing high explosive shells over the walls, and battering them with shells. The walls would fall eventually.
The trenches, as misfortune would have it, were behind the walls rendering the occupants useless until, heaven forbid, the walls fall to the enemy. Thomas looked above him as the wall segment in front of him exploded in hundreds of concrete rocks. Damned artillery. Immediatly, Thomas waved a platoon forward as quickly as possible. They needed to fill the gap to prevent a major breach. "Get on the sides of the fucking breach, dammit!" Thomas screamed angrily, drawing his pistol. Soldiers gathered on other side of the wall opening, their guns and helmets the only thing poking out from the breach. A crew of two replaced a machinegun as quickly as possible behind the breach, as the enemy began to pick off soldiers on the walls and move up the hill.
Roarke watched as a breach formed. Then, as laid out in the fireplan, the artillery shelling the inner courtyards began concentrating on the breach. The wall began to crumble away as the constant shelling began to strain them ever more. Roarke smiled. He and the Last Chancers would have no inhibitions with regards to killing those bastards behind the walls. He would wait until the breach was mostly cleared and the local militia performed the forlorn hope attack. But, now was not the time for that. He decided to allow his etiquette get the better of him. He lifted up the bullhorn lying next to him and raised it to his mouth.
"Soldiers of Gilead, I give you this one chance for surrender. I beseech you, do not turn a deaf ear to this offer." Roarke shouted down the bullhhorn. He knew the Airborne would never surrender after such an offer. And that was exactly what he wanted.
Aaron exhaled, he didn't get anywhere with Trinnie, but he truly didn't want to. He puffed out smoke from his century-old cigarettes. He had been trying to quit, but he had not. Growing up in Austin, you quickly realize how fast life can be ended. What are the chances of him living longer than 40 anyways? He already decided to go back to Austin at December this year, there was no hope for his lost brother. Aaron sighed as he even thought of Jay, the idea that he could be dead, rotting in a hole somewhere... it disgusted Aaron. It disgusted him to a point that he had even considered ending it now, saving him from a similar fate. But he knew better, he knew that he couldn't abandon Jenn like that, and that's the opposite of what his brother would want him to do. No, he would hold out for now. Aaron's attention was faulted by the arrival of a person, hopefully a friend. The man greeted Aaron, his voice sounded hardened and battle-worn. But most importantly, he introduced himself as Jacob. "Jacob? Vaughton?" Aaron was surprised to find this man of legend here, "Aaron Ramsey, pleased to meet you." They shook hands, Vaughton having somewhat of a stunned look on his face. Just as Aaron was about to speak, Domingo burst into the bar. Aaron looked to Jacob, "We'll talk later, for now, let's check whats going on."
With that, Aaron and Jacob approached Domingo as he ranted.
"You can go to hell, Roarke!!!" Thomas screamed back, using his own bullhorn. His soldiers cheered him, and their guns fired off into the air as an act of defiance. "So be it." The voice replied. Thomas poked his head out of the growing breach. He watched with laughter as a wave of wasters armed with nothing but old hunting rifles and lead pipes charged him in basic similiar brahmin outfits. What was Roarke doing, trying to waste resources? Thomas signaled for the machineguns covering the breach to hold until they could see the whites of the enemy's eyes, then raised a fist. As the waster militia charged inward up the hill, weary and tired, they were cut down by mass fire, not even getting the chance to raise weapons in defense. Thomas waited as another wave came up, and drew his sword, already bloodied from the dead wasters at his feet.
Apparently, word of Jacob's exploits with the Outcasts had reached Austin through Ramsey. This guy had the same mannerisms, but clearly wasn't a blood relative anyway. Unless Ramsey's father was incredibly gullible. He and the Austinite moved up the stairs with Domingo raving about something like a shimmer, like heat haze. Jacob knew that only Stealth Fields made that shimmer. He noticed it just as one barged into the room. Jacob opened fire, but missed. Damn beer goggles! They damaged more than your sense of taste in women apparently! Whoever it was deactivated the Stealth Field, because it was apparently of no use any more. The man raised his hands, and Domingo and Aaron were launche backwards. Jacob looked at the man, who returned an equally puzzled look. Then the man picked up a garden gnome and threw it at Jacob.
"Ow, what? Jesus, is that all you can do? But still Jesus, you could have someone's eye out like that!" Jacob shouted, distracting the man long enough to shoot him in the legs, blowing out his kneecaps.
Roarke watched as the forlorn hope attack on the breach faltered. He ordered for the guns to fire into the breach this time. Thomas wouldn't be getting away this time.
The first Black-Op fell to the ground, and in a his dying breaths he drew his pistol and started firing on Jacob. He then died as Jacob jumped and crushed his skull. The second Black-Op then came at Jacob from behind, smashing a glass of vodka in his eyes and drawing a knife, which he then used to stab Jacob right into the back of his knee-cap. (Ohh thats gotta hurtzorz!)
Jack was walking down a corridor, when he saw Jacob being stabbed threw the knee. Knowing that this was in fact not friendly bar behavior, he drew his ballistic knife. Firing at the man's neck, he walked over and removed the knife from Jacobs knee, and stabbed the already dead man's heart with it. Just to be sure of course!
Jacob spun on his bad leg as another BlackOp appeared from his Stealth Field (although, all things considered, he'd probably have two bad legs now), and delivered a wild, blindly swung punch at his attacker. Unfortunately, Jackal had just jumped the said attacker and was vigorously stamping on his head and chest as he struggled to regain his feet. The punch hit Jackal in the back of the head, launcing him forwards, to land in a heap on top of the pool table.
Jacob wiped the last of the vodka out of his eyes. He was pissed at that (I know from experience that vodka in the eyes hurts). As the Black-Op got back to his feet, Jacob punched him twice in the chest and twice in the face, breaking a few of his ribs, and his nose, respectively. Then, as the BlackOp regained his footing, he performed a dramatic display of his skill, waving his hands and such. As he finished in a relaxed fighting stance, with his knife pointed at JAcob's heart, all Jacob could do was sigh.
Then he drew a Sawn-Off Shotgun and blasted the poor fucker in the face, splattering his brains all over the spectators.
Riley sat on the cot face upwards but awake, he didn't want to risk Stefanie tying him up or something like that. He just had a dream that the whole ship was about to explode or something, with blue flames, but, how would that be possible?
Karen entered the Common Room (yes, Riley and Karen are in the same room) and moved into the back area. There she found a safe, and inside, a note. Fucking assholes, Karen thought, as the note read "Looking for the shipment? Sorry B! I took it for myself! A, if it's you, run before the buyer finds out." Oh well, Karen thought to herself, and she then realized that there were gunshots coming from the lower areas of the ship, and then she thought, Oh, looks like I need ANOTHER new team.
Domingo looked over at Jacob, seeing the mercenary had everything under control. "Sir," Domingo piped up as he rubbed the lump on his head garnered from slamming into a wall a short distance away. "I'm gonna go ahead and check on my tank. All the fighting has me a bit worried about the security of El Oso." ANd with that, the big latino sprinted out of the Muddy Rudder, past the common room, out onto the flight deck and towards the entrance.
Fireman0504 See what I mean? I'm away at work and you guys advance the storyline a ton! Dang! I missed out.
Stefanie rolled over in bed and opened a single eye, looking at Riley, who was now sitting up. She shook her head slowly as he gazed at her. Someone was in the room. The man tied to the bed next to her shivered in fear, his muffled sounds barely squeaking through the sock in his mouth. Riley slowly shook his head back. Cat layed on the floor, emmitting a long slow growl. Stefanie could smell a peculiar odor, like something burning. She heard the sounds of fighting down in the Muddy Rudder. This wasn't normal fighting. It sounded serious, guns and all. She wanted to get down there to help her friends. She NEEDED to. She couldn't, Riley was talking to her. Telling her she needed to stay put. Finally she couldn't take it, she leapt from the bed and sprinted to the door, opening it. Riley slowly got up as she left. The door shut behind her and she headed to the stairwell, passing Domingo along the way and skipping the last bunch of stairs. She skidded to a stop at the top of the Muddy Rudder's stairs and looked down at the carnage. "What the fuck went on here?" she said, "Riley's creeped out upstairs and all this shit, what the hell just happened?" Stefanie had pretty well recovered from her drunkeness and was now confused. She jumped on the back of the first hostile person she saw, who was grappling with Weston. She rode him to the ground, punching him in the back of the head until he lost conciousness. She stood up and luned into a drunken bargoer, throwing him into a wall. She turned as guns started blazing all over the Muddy Rudder, and crouched as she seeked out another hostile target.
Cromartie watched the fight, he didn’t want to be involved because he was the “new guy”. He didn’t want to make Enemies, as he is new to this country and area. The fight was different compared to the ones back at the Raider Lands, more serious looking.
Karen moaned lightly at the note, and then burned it too ashes. She then slowly escaped to the Muddy Rudder to check on her squadmates, and finish what they started.
Riley got up and started to follow Stefanie slowly.
Aaron watched as Jacob took down another one of these soldiers, them an truly was brutal. His glace was broken by a fist to Aaron's face by a thin, yet muscular looking man. Aaron stumbled to a table, upholstering his .357 Revolver in the possess. The man loaded the shotgun in his hands, but he was too slow. Aaron put two holes in him, one in the neck and one in the shoulder. The BlackOP, who he was fighting, fell to his knees gurgling blood. Aaron shot him again in the head, just to end his misery. Afterward, he looked over to Jacob, who was busy reloading his weapon.
"I just saw Domingo run out to his tank, I think we should follow him. Rivet city isn't seeming like the best place to be right now."
Alex ran into the room screaming his head off "theres a group of psychos in the bar".Sudenly marcus sat bolt upright "get the men up and ready.Contact those EMAA aseholes and tell them they best have those reinforcements here soon.Head up to the purifier with the men il catch up with you."
Domingo was still sprinting for the walkway when he noticed a mysterious woman in Enclave BlackOps armor in the staircase. Pressing his back to the wall outside the Staircase, Domingo poked his head through the doorway and watched as a small piece of paper spontaneously burst into flames in the woman's hands. Reacting in a manner mostly fuelled by his heavy drinking, lack of sleep and questionable sanity, Domingo pulled out his .32 pistol and fired all 5 shots into the stairwell. Three shots went wide and pinged into the couch, wall and file cabinet on the left side of the stairwell, one embedding itself in the door behind Karen and the fifth pinging off the floor at Karen's feet. Domingo, ignoring the fact that his bullets all completely missed, lumbered into the stairwell.
"So you're the one that's responsible for the Enclave here." Domingo stated, leaving no room for response as he threw a heavy left cross at Karen's face.
Karen was taken by surprise, she didn't expect that her cloaking would turn off at this point, Damn it, need to reenable that stealthboy next time, she thought. As she burnt the paper, she evolved it into a small white fireball. "Come an' get me!" she yelled at the man, as she threw her first fireball at him. She then drew she Cryolator (yes, a ICE gun) and started firing.
Jack was running through out the ship, searching for more hidden enemies. He had his Chinese assault rifle in his hand, and had just kicked in a door. Walking into a room, he heard gunfire. Quickly exiting it, he came upon a woman near a staircase, and the tank driver. Apparently she had some sort of modified flamer with her, as she shot fireballs from her hand. Jack aimed and fired, spraying the wall with bullets. It was too late however, as she already went for cover. Soon, Jack was getting fireballs thrown at him, and tried to duck for cover. The tank driver was already in a room, blind firing on the women. Jack looked out, just for a second before she pulled out an Ice Gun and started firing.
"Aww man, this is so wrong." Jackal muttered to himself as he sprinted up the hallway and blindsided the girl, slamming her into the wall and then to the floor. She rolled over and kicked at him, but he jumped back out of the way. Bad choice, he realised a as she fired at him with that ice gun thing. The bitch was trying to turn him into a freaking ice cube! Noway was he going to turn into something that floats in your drink!
And so, seeing discretion was the better part of valour, Jackal dived down the stairs, rolling as he landed to dissipate the impact. Then he pulled his own gun, firing the SMG and shotgun parts simultaneously. That forced the ice queen back into cover. Jackal whooped and moved back along the stairs to get into a position to fire at her again.
Karen was in cover wielding her Cryolator, when she realized she could kill them all very easily without even firing her gun.. or hands. She dropped the Cryolator and put both her hands on the floor, heating it, for what she was trying to do was suck all the oxygen out of the room. After all the walls were purple and red, and the 3 men were on the floor, out of breath, she ran out onto the bridge. But this one, Jack she heard, was able to follow her, so she blasted him off the bridge with blue fire into the radiated water.
Jackal was up and going after that bitch. Whatever that party trick of hers was, he was about to show one of his own. The Flying Burrito. As she ran from him, he jumped, gaining massive height and distance (or so his drunken brain thought), and dropped, heels first, into the backs of her knees. As expected, her feet were launched out from under her and she dropped right down on her head. Right, he thought. Time to pretend to be a gypsy at a wedding he thought as she got to her feet. He threw a savage jab, catching her off-guard, slamming her to the brige. She kicked out again. This time, Jackal failed to dodge and dropped, his leg gone numb from the pressure-point strike.
He rolled over and swung his freshly drawn machete, striking sparks off the steel bridge where her neck had been a split second before. They were both out of breath, but she could run. She dropped off the bridge, into the water, as he pulled a deagle and crawled to the edge. She was long gone or already had a stealthboy active. Either way, he couldn't see her any more. He cursed, loud and foul at that. Then he crawled back towards the ship. He'd be feeling this in the morning.
Karen swam to the shore and brushed herself off, she could see the Jack person swimming towards a ladder on the ship, she shot her Cryolator and missed a few times, but froze the ladder and made it fall back into the water. But it was too late, he was up already, time to move.
Jack, after climbing the ladder sat down for a second. He was drenched in radioactive water, and his poncho was ruined. Looking at the women running away, he yelled "FUCK YOU"! He then preceded to assemble his repeater. He looked through the scope, adjusted for the incredible drop, and fired. The woman fell down, it looked like he hit her leg. "Let's go Enclave hunting". The other members of the group rushed up to the en trace, and started to follow.
.357 rounds pelted the ground around Karen's feet. "Hey! Get the fuck back here!" Strauss bellowed from the bridge, aiming his D'Eagle lopsidedly and one-handedly, his Power Armor compensating for the recoil. After the gun began to click in protest, he ejected the empty magazine and threw it in her direction. "Bitch!" He yelled. Worthington was much more coherently, albeit silently, peppering her with plasma bolts. Strauss heard Jack mention something about hunting, so after struggling to reload his pistol he followed.
Karen clutched her left foot, and pulled out a .44, "Bastards!" she screamed, and threw it away. After injecting her foot with a stimpak and wrapping a bandage around it, she activated her last stealth-boy and started to run away into the morning sun.
Jackal hobbled along on a makeshift crutch, donated by Seagrave Holmes. His leg was still, to all intents and purposes, dead. It was the feeling you got when you hit your hand really hard with a heavy hammer. Numb, yet somehow throbbing with pain nonetheless. And he had an itch. Which the numbness prevented from going away when scratched. This was doing nothing to lighten Jackal's mood as he limped back into the Muddy Rudder, just in time to see Jacob staring down anyone that came close. That guy made Jackal's skin crawl. As much as a Ghouls skin could.
Meanwhile, as the sun rose over Gilead, the Last Legion, specifically, the Last Chancers, AKA 7th Hell Zulu Company, moved up the hill, firing constantly to keep the defenders in the breach pinned down. Roarke, leading them spotted Thomas in the middle of the group, ordering that they fire. A genius plan struck him. If he let Thomas live and run crying back to HighCom, he'd spread more discord than word of Roarke's advance ever could.
"Thomas is mine. Beyond that, let the heads roll, lads!" Roarke bellowed to his troops.
He rushed the breach, his feild ripper rending the first Airborne soldier in half. Then, Thomas moved on him.
"Don't do this, Nate." Thomas shouted.
"This is beyond either of us, Freddy. I'm sorry, but this can't end any other way." Roarke sighed. Thomas thrust his sword at him. That exact same thrust Roarke had taught him. Roarke blocked the thrust and reversed the rotation of the ripper chain, sending Thomas reeling. Then he stepped through, slamming the side of the ripper into Thomas' head. Thomas fell, stunned as Roarke towered over him, the eyes of his T-51b armor glowed a menacing red.
"You can go fuck yourself twice over, Roarke." Thomas said, and drew his Desert Eagle as Nate brought the ripper down ontop of him, shearing into the handgun and slicing it in half with ease. However, that was all the time Thomas needed. Rolling away, he paused to get up on his feet as gunfire from behind attempted to pierce his own power armor. He turned back to Nate as he reached for his sword, moving back again to engage him. "You've allowed some twisted, perverted version of the same code we both pledged allegiance to to turn you into the monster you are now! What happened to you, Nate? What went wrong?!" Thomas said with indignation and resignment. "You are turning on the very men you fought beside little less than a year ago!" Thomas roared, and once again engaged Nate, twirling his sword as he parried the massive weight of the field ripper, which was quickly wearing through Thomas' sword.
Domingo ran right after Karen the whole way, clomping through the oxygen-dried hallway gasping like a fish about to be strung out in a sushi bar, before making a break for the bridge. He arrived just in time to see Karen plunge into the water. Still sprinting full bore, Domingo leaped over the railing and, temporarily forgetting that little natural law called gravity, flailed his arms and legs back and forth as if attempting to run forward on thin air. That obviously didn't work out too well, as Domingo soon pitched over forward, narrowly missed the flight deck and fell headfirst into the water. Floundering for a second beneath the irradiated seas as his overladen jacket dragged him to the bottom, Domingo tore the leather encumberance off and kicked for shore, dragging the jacket behind him. He pulled ashore just in time to see Karen take off running and activate her Stealth Boy. Staring blearily ahead, Domingo spotted the outline of the woman crossing the sun and immediately went for El Oso. Starting the old tank, Domingo rolled it forward as fast as the vehicle would move while still encumbered with its payload of weapons bound for Megaton and followed the shadow, using his floodlights to spot the footpraints left behind by the fleeing woman.
"Nothing went wrong with me. It went wrong on me. The empire I swore to defend is falling apart, and I was stuck in a dead-end dropout frontier, wasting the best soldiers in the Crusade up in the frozen North." Roarke roared. The wounds on his spirit were still fresh, and he struggled not to cut Thomas in half as he rained blows down on his guard. Roarke then spun back the other way and bisected an Airborne Templar coming at his back. He carried on the swing,rounding back on Thomas, knocking his sword away. Thomas then pulled one of Roarke's own tricks on him. He kicked into Roarke's knee, staggering him.
Roarke roared and bulled into Thomas as he regained his footing. He slammed his head into Thomas', their helmets cracking together like two charging Brahmin. They swept their swords around again, Roarke reversing the rotation of his ripper chain again, almost disarming Thomas.
"Time to end this, little brother." Roarke snarled as he stepped forward and swung again.
Stefanie ran pst Strauss, who was blazing away from the bridge, with his weapon. She was trying to catch up to the rest of the roup as they followed the now-moving tank. The odd woman was making her getaway, though a whole lot of people had been killed in the process. Everyone Stefanie knew was still there and accounted for, though that ghoul was hobbling along on a crutch. Stefanie slowly jogged to a stop, trying to catch her breath. Always one step behind, she was. God damn it. She popped in a Buffout and looked around. She didn't see Riley anywhere. Strauss was putting his weapon away and the others seemed to be gathering at the bottom of the ramp. Stefanie walked over to join them.
Jacob looked at Stefanie and nodded to her. They all watched helplessly as Domingo's tank lumbered off, sweeping back and forth with it's floodlights. Jacob sighed and raised his scoped .44 revolver, but the bitch had disappeared from view before he could get a clear shot.
Jackal wasn't happy at all. His leg was starting to wake up, after he injected another Stimpak into it. He looked around at the gathered crew, all watching Domingo speeding off as fast as a Pre-War tank minus turret could go. Which was about walking speed. Unlike a running soldier, it wouldn't get tired. Jackal scratched his head, looking at Strauss and Worth. Strauss had removed his helmet and was looking quite flushed fromthe fighting. Jacob was looking frustrated, bandages wrapped around his knee. There was no bone or connective tissue damage, but it still hurt like fuck, going by the look on his face.
Aaron cursed. "What the fuck just happened?" he bluntly spat. He was pissed, but confused at the same time. They killed about two of the mysterious visitors, the last one slipped right out of their fingers. Drawing a cigarette from his pocket, Aaron began to smoke away. His left arm was bleeding from a far too large piece of glass that sliced him and he his left eye was beginning to blacken. Turning back to the group, the whole gang was gathered here. Stefanie was approaching them now. Maybe he was with the wrong group. He'd been with these guys one night and he was already nearly killed, but they were his only small link to Jay, where ever he may be.
Domingo stormed off with his tank, leaving the rest on foot. Aaron would follow his companions for now, but he had a bad feeling that something very bad was going to go down.
Domingo continued scanning the path ahead of him, watching the floodlights scan across the hard-packed dust futilelyin search of Karen's footprints. Even setting out, he knew he was fucked trying to find his stealthy escapee, but he might as well have given it a try.
Eventually, the pillar of black smoke that definitely wasn't exhaust from the engine forced Domingo to stop and go after the fire extinguisher stored in the former gunnnery compartment. Opening the engine grates from the exterior of the tanks with a pair of crucible tongs salvaged from the wreckage of Early Dawn Elementary School by the GNR plaza, Domingo gave the interior a healthy spraying out with the fire extinguisher and then spat on the old powerhouse for good measure before replacing the grates.
ANother half hour passed before El Oso and Domingo futilely crawled back to Rivet City, Domingo looking disheartened through the pilot's small viewport on the front. He stuck his head through the entry hatch, hauled his torso out and again flopped face-first onto the tarmac. Brushing himself off as he stood, he proceeded to angrily throw his tank captain's skullcap onto the ground and stomp on it, throwing a hail of curses loud and wild enough to bring Jericho to his knees in surrender, until his face glowed beet red and the helmet was thoroughly beaten to a pulp. Having calmed down enough to speak coherently, Domingo, now entirely sober by the adrenaline rush that had taken his system, shrugged at the assorted group.
"We've lost her," Domingo said in astonishment, half-admitting the fact to himself and half telling the group of his failure. "Just give me another hour to fix El Oso and her engine problems, and I'll find her this time."
Riley ran outside to the bridge. "What happened? Did Karen escape??" he said.
"Riley, first of all, a Enclave woman that could shoot fire from her hands and had an Ice Gun just came through, killed a few people, and left with the Tank driver over their trying to chase after her. Of course with a vehicle that can move three miles per hour. I also have to buy a new poncho, and treat the second or third degree burns on me. Now, I have a question for you Riley. Who the fucking hell's Karen?"
"Karen.. she's that woman that just left!"
"Ah yes, I forgot that your a mind reading psychopath. Anyway, I'm going to go get drunk, then try to find some one that can fix a third degree burn in the morning." Jack then started walking to the entrance, and paused to look at the guard who's body was scorched.
Sefanie smiled at Jacob as he nodded to her. She was happy he was finally warming up, at least a little to her. Normally he stared right past. Oh well. Domingo had thrown a temper tantrum, Aaron was confused, and Jack was irrate over his burned poncho and was headed back to the Rudder to get drunk again. Stefanie cocked her head to the side. Hadn't drunkenness left them vulnerable to their current situation ain the first place? Stefanie shrugged. Booze did sound like a good idea. Riley showed up and mentioned someone bamed "Karen." Jackal hobbled about, adding his oh-so colorful view on the situation. Simply that his leg was fuckin' hurt and he wanted a drink. In his own old-man, ghouly way, Stefanie had to admit Jackal was kind of a cutie. Speaking of cuties, the guy Stefanie left tied in the common room crossed her mind. She wondered if he was still there. She decided to go take a peek, then hit the Muddy Rudder, then, if security hadn't found him, likely with the huge cleanup, she'd play with him a little. First thing first though, Stefanie headed back in for some more booze.
Cromartie walked slowly and left the Rudder Bar….
Everyone gets some kind of feeling he will be back.
Stefanie sat back down at the bar in the Muddy Rudder. She looked around and watched the security forces milling around. They were cleaniing up bodies and getting things back in order. Belle Bonnie looked at Stefanie from across the bar. "I've seen some fights in my day." she said, "but I think that tops them all." Stefanie looked back at her. Jack had just walked in. "Ge that guy some vodka, and get me a shot of whiskey." Belle looked slightly annoyed, but she was constantly being a bitch to customers, so Stefanie did't really care about being a bitch to her. Most of the patrons had left, either to the infirmary or to be loked in in their own rooms, or they were killed in the fighting and were being dumped off the boat to become Mirelurk food. Stefanie downed her shot and ordered another. She was slightly disappointed that security had released her "prisoner" in the Common Room, but ah well. She ordered another shot of whiskey.
Domingo walked back into the Muddy Rudder and took a seat next to Stefanie. Although he was completely sober now, his face and hands were smothered in sticky grease and oil, and his face was half-obscured by a stolen Raider Arclite helmet, which he used as a welding mask. He ordered up a bottle of vodka and swivelled towards Stefanie on the barstool.
"Tank's broekn down," he admitted, "it'll take at least a week to fix before I can get to Megaton. Looks like I'll be stuck here for a while."
"What needs repairing? I was a machinist before the War. And I've got a degree in engineering. I'll take a look if you don't mind. That is when my leg wakes up." Jackal said as he sat down next to Domingo. He was eating what could only be described as the ultimate sandwich (in Post War terms anyway). It was Yao Guai meat, with a bit of Mirelurk claw meat stuffed between a pair of chargrilled Brahmin steaks. He commented on that bitch's trick with heating the floor had come in handy for cooking this stuff. People began to grimace as it dawned on them that he had used the superheated corridor floor as a frying pan.
"And I used to be a mechanic in the Vault I crawled out of, so I could probably throw a spanner in the works, as it were." Strauss chimed in as he lowered himself into a seat. He'd said that in a rather low tone of voice, as he knew what sort of reception former Dwellers got in most settlements. He knew from his time living here that Rivet City was no exception and had learnt to keep his mouth shut pretty quickly after he first arrived there all those years ago. His thoughts drifted off to where the fellow Dwellers of 94 were now as his eyes followed some small Post-War flying insect as it circled a light dangling from the ceiling.
"Any way you can help would be great, guys." Domingo said, starting into his vodka. As he downed the first few gulps and placed the bottle on the table, he turned towards Jackal. "The bolts for the cooling fan stripped out on the way back, and the whole engine is at risk of exploding if we don't replace the fan and the bolts, or find a new and more effective cooling system. Any high octane fuel you would happen across would help as well."
Then he turned to Conor. "As for you, the cam shafts in the engine have become jammed with grease and they're operating at half of their original efficiency. A lot of the moving components fused in the engine's excess heat as well, so that could be a problem. See what you can do."
Domingo looked down at himself. "As for me, I'll go out and look for replacement bolts and scrap metal I could salvage to replace the treads, they're coming loose in a bad way and I'll need to repair them before they fall off. Along with the drive wheels, those are becoming damaged as well."
Stefanie looked at Domingo. He was covered in grease, oil and sweat. He'd sobered up, but now looked like he could use a drink again. "It's not such a bad place to be stuck," Stefanie said. "We're safe from most threats. Though, anyone with some of them whirly birds is about the only thing that can get here. That and super secret stealth boys." Stefanie shrugged, before tossing some caps down for Domingos vodka. "You know what the others are gonna do? I was gonna sleep, then trade in the mornin', then head back to my little underground house over in Bailey. I actually got quite a bit of salvaged scrap stockpiled there. You lot are welcome to pop in and take what you want. No charge!" Stefanie winked and patted Domingo on the back.
"Guards say war's breakin' out all over the Capital Wasteland again though. Somethin' about a last Crusade or somethin'. Seein ' as it's almost mornin' I'm thinkin' I'll drink the rest of the night, trade, then try to get back to Bailey in the mornin' anyway. Hopefully, the war'll be not so spread yet tomorrow to where I can get in and hunker down. I've met them Crusaders before. They're tough sons of bitches, so I'm gonna try to avoid them. What chance does a professional bar fighter have against an entire army right? Eh, once everythin's settled down, I'm goin' back to Zanadu. Prolly to take up fightin' again, I'm ready for my wanderin' days to be over for a while." Stefanie didn't know if Domingo was even listening, but that's how she got when she had a few drinks in her, super talkative. Oh well. She popped in another Buffout as some more of the crowd began trickling through the door. She greeted them with a wave and a smile. Some looked mad, some indefferent, some in dire need of booze. "So what's the plan?" Stefanie called out as she, Domingo, and Jack turned around on their stools.
"Ordinarily, I'd say let the Crusade and the Last Legion beat the snot out of each other, but we at least need to keep an eye on them in case Tenkage and his band of merry morons show up again and make things worse. Again. I reckon shadowing Roarke is out of the question, after the poncho wearing genius here took a shot at him. His soldiers would be on high alert for anyone after that." Jacob sighed, indicating Jack as he mentioned the poncho.
"I say we let em beat the shit outta each other, and then swoop in with more of your ninja friends and beat the life out of anyone that's still breathin." Jackal said. He flexed his fingers around the hilt of his machete. "I want Frederick Thomas dead by my hands. We have a history together. Let the rest of em pick each other apart I say. Then I'd like to settle down in Underworld after that."
Stefanie cocked her head. "Who's Tenkage?" she said, puzzled. "and what morons will he show up with to ruin the day? Not that it hasn't already been ruined." she mumbled, opening a can of Pork N' Beans, then looking at Riley and Cat, to ensure her threat still stood, should Cat jump up. "I like Jackal's scavenging plan. We kill the dead and wounded, and we reap the spoils of war. You've seen their tech, we could be rich rich folks, or at least well-equipt folks. Not that you aren't Mr. V." she looked at Jacob, who she knew had dozens of hideouts scattered everywhere, with more weapons than you could shake a repellant stick at. "Where's the main fighting happenin?" she said, downing another shot of whiskey, "and are the yahoos who spoiled my beauty sleep gonna show up and gum up the works again?"
Domingo looked forward into the bar's display case as if looking straight through the hull of Rivet City, out to the horizon. "After I get El Oso fixed... I don't know. I'll probably keep wandering. Maybe I will head west again. Maybe I'll check things out to the north, or head down to Florida. I've heard there're promising trade posts down there." Domingo smiled at Jackal and Stefanie's qualmst about the Crusade.
"I was never fond of them myself. Then again, when you're a mercenary, you get paid by someone who hates someone else, anyways, so I figured I might as well not like them as well. They never really treated me special, but they never attacked me either. We never really got along though, so I guess I've been looking for an excuse to get up and shoot them at my earliest convenience." Mulling the thought of a head-on engagement with the Crusade over for a second, he turned back to Jackal: "You've got my support, friends. No matter what happens with the Crusade, I'll be following right behind you."
Considering his support of Jackal's scav team, he turned towards the flesh-rotten fighter and nodded. "Sounds like a good plan. If I can ever get El Oso fixed, then you can dump your stuff on me and get it where it's going. Fee waived, of course."
Strauss simply at there in silent contemplation after that. At first he was wondering how the hell he was going to help Dowhatsisface. He'd never worked on a vehicle before; let alone a tank; let alone something with a freakin' internal combustion engine. That sort of setup was dated at the time of the war. It baffled him how the strange tank driver had managed to get it into working order, let alone find fuel for it.
Then, as the conversation around him drifted to the future, he began to think about his own. When the hell where the Claws coming back? Directly after he joined the rest of them had sauntered off to Cali and had been gone for over a month. They'd probably gotten themselves killed on the journey there, he pessimistically speculated. What would he do until they were back? Fight the Good Fight? As if some divine force was waiting for the right moment, the radio across the bar from him which was formerly playing a GNR broadcast degraded into bursts of static. He groaned quietly, brushed a speck of mud from his helmet's visor and looked over to the others.
Piping up as the conversation fell on the Crusade, Strass broke his self-imposed silence. "I'm game for anything involving wiping those bigot bastards off the planet," he proclaimed.
"Tenkage.. Tenkage.. Bren Tenkage.." Riley said to himself, "He leads the Claws, which are a merc group, they are stationed in the ol' Super Duper Mart,". He then grabbed some whiskey and poured it into his mouth slowly, "Did somebody say that girl, Karen, could throw fire?" Everybody looked at him strangely, as nobody had said it, but somebody thought it.
Aaron waved away the barkeep as she offered him a beer. He was sober and would like to stay that way, for now at least. Aaron looked around, people had already gone back to their normal card games and conversations, acting like the whole fight never happened. Exhausted, Aaron rose from the rusty stool and walked up to Domingo, who was in conversation about the Crusade and such with some of the others, but he didn't hear much. Aaron nudged the man's shoulder, "Hey man, whenever you need to get some scrap metal, tell me. I'm dying to get some fresh air." He looked around for a second, thinking, "Until then, I'll be on the deck. Peace." With that, Aaron left to group. Whenever he had come to Rivet city, he always found the deck to be the most peaceful and quiet. At least recently, without the overwhelming Super Mutant threat.
"What?" Strauss said, staring blankly at Riley. "How can you "throw" fire? That's physically impossible. Your hand would go straight through it and come out with some severe burns. She must have had some form of modified Flamer grafted into her combat suit, but she wasn't throwing shit, Rile."
"Bren Tenkage huh?" Stefanie set her shot glass down and took another one. "Never heard of him or The Claws. Don't you mean Talon Company. I've heard of them. Found one of those bastards snoopin' around my lift. Needless to say I strung him up, from the girders. He was alive then, but I had no way of feeding him. Pretty sure he's dead now. I dunno. He was one of the guys you're talkin' about?" Riley shook his head slowly as Stefanie went back to eating her Pork N' Beans and took another shot of whiskey. Stefanie watched as Aaron left. Going up for air or something. She smirked. He seemed like a good kid. Too good for this part of the country. Stefanie then chuckled again because this thought made her seem like a jaded old woman, when she was in fact still an attractive young woman, though being a slave, wanderer, scavenger, and pit fighting champion she had a lot of life experience. Oh well. She went back to thinking about the Talons, er Claws, er whoever they were, and how the small group didn't need another faction showing up to screw things up.
"Then how can I lift things without even touching them!?" he said, "Thats physically impossible.." he then lifted his whiskey to his mouth, without his hand. "Maybe she can make fire the same way I can lift my whiskey??"
"You can do magic, though, remember?" Strauss pointed out, giving a lopsided grin to signify that he wasn't being serious. Riley did have a point, though. Not much made sense in the modern world. "But honestly. Where'd you get the idea she was "throwing" fire in the first place? It makes a lot more sense that she was using a weapon. Exerting force with your mind is one thing, but sparking flames out of nowhere is just crazy."
"It's quite simple, really." Jackal said, his inner engineering nerd bursting out. "It's oxygen saturation. All she needs is a concentrated solution of Hydrogen Peroxide, a pressurized can and some way to siphon off the oxygen at high pressure. Oxygen saturation causes spontaneous combustion in a lot of cases. One moron I worked with used an oxygen tank to blow dust off his suit. His sleeve caught fire when he walked out the door."
Jackal then realised that he was talking to a group of people, who, apparently other than Jacob, had no idea what he was saying. Of course, Jacob could be just as puzzled as anyone else, because reading him was like reading Mirelurk Language. Impossible, mainly because Mirelurks had no written language, but Jackal was not in the mood to think straight.
"Aaand of course, she must perform this complicated process naturally, right, Riley?" Strauss asked rhetorically, his tone dripping with sarcasm. He had no idea what the Ghoul gunslinger had just said, and was too tired and tipsy to really be paying attention to it anyway, so he was in a sort of nodding-along mood. "So she had Hydrogen Peroxide sprayers in the wrists of her sleeves or something. Hey, you never know."
"No, Conor, she had a container of Peroxide. If she just sprayed the Peroxide around, she'd just bleach our hair and give us alkaline burns. You need a valve to keep the oxygen flowing, but not the peroxide. That's what starts the fires. I'd show you what Oxygen saturation does, but these people are mighty protective of their oxygen cylinders." Jackal said.
Jackal then leaned on the bar. Everything had gotten a whole lot more complicated ever since his run-in with Tenkage. Bregrod, that boat, shit, he'd never told Jacob about the boat wreck in his safehouse! Anyway, there had been all that business with Thomas and shit. Jackal sighed. His brain was addled. He needed sleep. And a lot of it.
"Peroxides and saturations and sleeves... why don't we just shoot the bitch in the face?" Stefanie commented whimsically. Her comparatively simple mind was working in overdrive and still not comprehending what these geniuses were talking about. Suddenly she felt really small again, almost lower than them. She reached across the bar and grabbed the hot plate, her hand recoiling at the very tingling of the burn, so fast that she didn't feel a thing. Least her reflexes were still good, even though she was drunk off her rocker. The group was still discussing the abilites of the mystery woman when Stefanie poured four shots and did them all simultaneously. She staggered to her feet, looking for something more to eat.
"That would have worked, if she hadn't tried to turn me into a drink cooler with that Ice Gun of hers." Jackal murmured. Stefanie was the kind of person they needed around to keep things in perspective. Only Jacob was as blunt, abrupt and practical as she was. The Wastelands would have been free of Frederick Thomas long ago if Jackal had forgone Ghoulifying him and just shot him dead. Jackal was almost ashamed at himself for that. He wouldn't make the same mistake this time. If he ever met Thomas again, he'd cut him open like a dog, and put a cartridge of buckshot in his head. Jackal also admired her ability to take multiple shots at once. All she had to do now was do that while dangling upside-down from a stair railing and she'd have mastered one of Jackal's own party tricks.
"Wonder why she'd have an Ice Gun and a Flamer anyway.." Riley said, as there really was no point, as the two counter eachother. "I need another drink," he said, and then ordered another whiskey.
Stefanie walked over to the table where Brock, the Muddy Rudder bouncer was sitting, eating his YumYum Devilled eggs. Stefanie reached down and grabbed one. She ate it quickly and reached for another. Brock grabbed her arm. "Put it down and this goes no further," he said. "Let me have it and I won't humliate you in front of everyone here that you supposedly 'intimidate'," she snapped back. He tried to stand up but she pushed him back into his seat. Suddenly Jackal grabbed her arm. "Come on there firecracker," the ghoul said, "take another shot over with us." Stefanie grudgingly accepted the offer and walked back to where the group was, to a waiting shot of whiskey. She downed it and ordered another, along with some YumYum Devilled eggs of her own. Eating them, she listened as intently as she could to what they were discussing about moving against the Crusade, and dealing with the flame throwing lady, and fixing the tank. Stefanie's mind was too clouded to think straight, but she was getting kind of itchy. She needed some excitement. Maybe she'd challenge someone to a fight up on the deck. Eh, this wasn't that type of place. If she were in Zanadu again they could just go into a cage and do it. She needed a thrill. She popped a Buffout in her anxiety and took another shot of whiskey.
Jackal leaned on the bar, counting his misfortunes. He was sitting in a dingy bar, with an ex-slave cage dancer, or was it cage fighter? He guessed the latter, after all the girl was handy with a power fist. He was in the presence of a Vault Engineer, a tank-driving arms dealer, an assassin, who had yet to name himself, and Jacob Vaughton, a certifiable card-carrying psychopathic mass-murderer was less than ten feet away. Knowing what he knew, Jackal was glad he wasn't a stranger, otherwise, he'd be shitting bricks, planks and bullets. At least his gear didn't need any major repairs. The fact that he was a Ghoul detracted from his happiness somewhat, but he hated wallowing in his own self-pity, so he pushed that thought away the second it came to him.
Jacob was back to leaning on the wall, watching everyone moving around or sitting still. Playing cards, drinking, arm wrestling, etc etc. All very calm compared to the chaos going on less than ten minutes ago. Again, Jacob was so still, he almost seemed to blend into the wall. He started cleaning and sharpening his knives, one by one. He spotted a small child trying to count the knives, and then give up after a while. Jacob didn't bother changing expression. That kid wasn't the first, or the oldest, to lose count of Jacob's knives as he pulled them out of his sleeves, boots, armor plates, and one out of each side of his collar. More than any one man could ever conceivably need. And in spite of that, Jacob knew he had killed at least two people with each and every one of the blades.
This is quite a bit behind the other posts, chronologically
Roarke took another swing at Thomas, his Field Ripperknocking his off balance again and again, as the officer sword struggled to hold up to the roaring chain of the blade. Then, in a surprising act of compassion, Roarke stepped away from Thomas. He handed his Field Ripper to a Last Chancer, and drew his own Officer Sword. The two of them lunged back at each other, blades ringing off each other as they moved with renewed vigour. In the early morning darkness, the blades struck sparks off each other, sending fat orange sparks flying through the air. He pulled Thomas off balance with a parry, and slammed his elbow into Thomas' face, cracking his head back and sending him staggering. Just as he was about to lunge forward and make a potentially lethal thrust, Thomas regined enough of his senses to land a kick that nearly floored Roarke.
So Freddy still had some fight left in him. Leaving him for dead without killing him was starting to look more and more difficult. At least there were soldiers on both sides inside the breack, with Last Legion veterans pushing the Airborne back. Years of experience in almost constant battle had brought the 7th Hell Zulu Company up to their level, and even in BRA, they were going toe-to-toe with the best the Crusade had to offer. Roarke was as proud of them now as he had ever been.
Domingo looked around the room before noticing what he needed. Somewhere down the bar, buzzing incessantly inside its metal casing, was a Pre-War desk fan, the kind that cheap people used on hot summer days to put a breeze right in their face and keep them cool. For now, though, Domingo had other ideas. Slipping off the barstool to his feet, Domingo casually walked over and snatched the desk fan right off the table. He was about halfway to the door of the rudder when Brock shouted, "Put the fan down, thief!"
Domingo, paying the moronic bouncer no heed, continued on his course through the door. He was about hatwo steps away when he suddenly felt the uncomfortable feeling of the cold steel muzzle of a gun being pressed to the back of his skull. Wasting no time with banter, Domingo kicked out with his left leg, catching Brock in the gut and spinning him around, where Domingo turned and planted a headbutt at the base of Brock's neck, flooring him hard. Domingo then retreated back to El Oso with his prize, a 200-year-old desk fan.
Boy did that sound rediculous.
"Serves you right, Roarke!" Thomas said, and twirled his sword once again, removing his helmet and wiping away the blood that formed behind from his nose. Rubbing it gently, he slammed into one of Roarke's bodyguards, slicing through his BRA armor and cutting the neckline material, blood speweing out in a controlled arc. However, before THomas could move to combat the next threat, he turned once again as Nate came to wield the ripper again, slamming it into Thomas' sword. The chainsaw created sparks as it once again competed for supremacy; Nate's brute power and skill versus Thomas' swordsmanship.
Roarke swepte his sword up in an undercut swipe, then reversed his grip on the hilt and lunged it downwards at Thomas, nearly impaling him. He was really pressing the advantage now, and by the loooks of it, Thomas was starting to feel the pressure. Roarke grinned inside his helmet, but still didn't want to get cocky about it. Getting overconfident tended to lead to severe injury and death.
"See Freddy, this is why I was decorated as a Master Swordsman and you weren't." Roarke shouted as he disarmed Thomas, forcing him to dive to the side to recover his sword. Roarke then pressed the advatage yet again, striking at Thomas before he could rise. Thomas, now fightin on one knee, was in dire strait. Until Roarke turned to cut down one of Thomas' own Praetorian bodyguards. Roarke stepped away from Thomas, and kicked the Praetorian's dropped sword up into his free hand.
Roarke smiled as he whirled both blades in his grip. His T-51b's plates were all shaved down a little to allow greater agility and movement in close quarters. Thomas gulped at the sight of the two blades spinning at angles his armor would never allow. Roarke just advanced, striking from every possible angle, pushing Thomas back again and again.
Riley was full of beer again, and fell unconscious waiting for somebody to carry him up to the Common Room again.
"Jeez. I'm dead and so's Riley by the looks of things. I'm heading up to the Common Room. Night, guys. Or morning, rather." Strauss gestured for Worthington to follow him before picking up Riley in his arms (again) and slinging the psychic over his shoulder. After a few minute's walking, he'd managed to get them both to the room, and, after dumping Riley onto a bed and paying no heed to another man tied to one with socks, started taking off his Power Armor and settled into another bed afterwards.
Riley woke up in the Common Room, to the radio being turned on to the Enclave broadcast.. "Dude, shut that shit off," Riley said to whoever turned on the Enclave radio, "I said, turn that shit off." he said again, this time through telepathy, and the man shut it off and fell down, "He must've been drunk," Riley commented before getting up, and seen Stefanie playing with another man tied to a bed with socks.
Strauss was snoring loudly with one arm hanging off the side of his old naval cot. Cat wandered over and started licking his hand. Then the dog started sniffing around his bag on the floor for the scent of Pork 'n' Beans, but ran off when Worthington began to spool rounds into his minigun.
Riley ran over to Worthington and deactivated him before any 5mm bullets could fly at his dog.
Strauss woke up suddenly and rugby tackled Riley before he could deactivate his robot, but told Worthington not to shoot the dog.
Jack had just woken up. It seemed that next door, a mini gun was starting up, but it was probably just his imagination. Getting up, he walked next door, and looked inside the room. "I'm going to go loot some Crusade shit, who want's to join me?"
"Me!" Riley said, after pushing Strauss off of him.
"We're in." Jackal said behind him. Jacob was standing next to the Ghoul, nodding in agreement. He flexed his hands. They all needed to get out of here. Jacob had just come down from the roof, or deck, he wasn't sure which to call it. Talking to Aaron Ramsey, who had just arrived (not leaving the Ramseys behind, can do the conversation in flashback) behind them. Jacob flexed his hands again, watching the others for their reactions.
Riley was shooting some raiders, as was just about everybody else, they were all following Cerebral since he had said something about Crusade loot around here. Then, suddenly, they heard something they hadn't heard for a while.. Super Mutants. But, these ones were big, they had Gatling Lasers and some sort of Laser Shotty. Shit, Riley thought.
"What the hell?" Strauss asked, his confused tone shining through despite the mechanical edge his helmet gave his voice. He was truly baffled. They looked as though they were halfway through becoming Behemoths, having similar faces and the same sort of hunch, but not being as big. Before he could say anything, he saw the Gatling Laser fire up. "HOLY FUCK! Get down!" He yelled as he dived into cover, pulling out his Laser Rifle.
Domingo rolled El Oso up and over the low rise behind the super mutants, coaxing the newly repaired (and upgraded!) tank along at a steady 20 miles per hour. He eventually rammed right into one of the first mutants, knocking it flat on its head and rolling on over.
Jacob vaulted over the side of El Oso and booted a Super Mutant in the chest. One of the big ones. Unfortunately, it just tanked through the blow and sent him sprawling. Then, he landed a good half-dozen punches before it could blink. It blinked, and that was about it, until Jacob landed lucky number seven, hearing the glorious crack of bone. Then it responded with it's own boxing technique, launching Jacob backwards, and bringing its Gatling Laser to bear again.
Jacob rolled away, swearing as he went. He pulled out Mother's Woe and fired a three shot burst into the Mutant's chest. It burst apart in a glare of blood, guts and igniting incendiary material. At least Jacob's HEIAP ammunition worked on these shits.
"The cavalry has arrived!" Strauss cheered as El Oso rolled up with Jacob in tow. Those modifications he and Jackal had done to the tank earlier in the morning were coming in handy (yes they did shut up kk thanks), as was the Super-Ninja who was now laying into the mutants. Slinging his rifle and picking up Impact, he charged at one that was focused on Jacob and swung the hammer heavily into its back. An audible boom resonated throughout the area, and the Super Mutant yelled something about its back hurting incoherently while looking around confusedly. Strauss was surprised he hadn't shattered its spine in one hit - no, that's your inflated ego talking, Conor - but it didn't really matter, as Jacob proceeded to shoot it in the face with that explosive ammunition of his, spattering Strauss in smouldering brains and flesh.
Riley picked up one of the dead "Mini-Behemoths" Laser Shottys.
Strauss did the exact same thing, tossing it over to Worthington who caught it in his manipulators and deposited it in his storage compartment. He'd have to dismantle it later and see whether there was any improvements to the basic AER9 it had that he could transplant over to his own rifle. The fact that it seemed to have two separate Microfusion Cells looked mighty interesting.
Domingo climbed out of the top hatch of El Oso and looked at the untouched third Super Mutant, the one he had plowed over with the tank's new front-end ram (really a snowplow reinforced with steel and studded with rusty iron spikes). Looking at the gun port next to the pilot's seat, where a coaxial .50-caliber machine gun would usually be attached, Dom called out to Jackal.
"Jackal!" Domingo shouted. "See if you can find the wrench in the tool kit on the top of the tank, I'm going to mount this laser chaingun inside and we're going to need to remove the gun cap to fit it." After all, with El Oso and its new top speed of 35 miles per hour, its front-end ram and 25-ton girth, who would mess with the tank after it had a fucking laser chaingun bolted to the front?
Jackal muttered incoherently about having a Masters Degree and having to do a simpleton's grunt work as he went about his job mirthlessly. Fuckin humans. No respect for Ghouls. Jakcl was 230 years old, for Gods sake. So this guy had no respect for his elders either! Jackal calmed down and began to take a little bit of joy from the manual work of loosening bolts and readying the welding plant in the crew compartment. He was also sporting a dashing new aviator's cap, complete with chinstraps hanging out of the sides (Like the ones Super Mutant Masters wear), and the idea of looking like a zombie pilot amused him no end.
Domingo looked at the entry to the crew compartment, holding the square backpack to the laser chaingun and pondering how he was going to get it through the round hole in the top of the tank. At a mental impasse, Domingo spent a few minutes pondering how the pack was going to fit through before he eventually decided to just lower it through the patched hole where the cannon had originally been machined off. He carefully retracted the locked-on patches of ramshackel iron armor, slinked through, carrying the chaingun and the pack, and crawled forward to the pilot's compartment where Jackal had already arrived with the welding apparatus.
"Thank you Jackal," Domingo said, "Now can you help me figure out how to boost the power on this gun?"
Stefanie crouched behind the tank. She was lacking in any sort of ranged weaponry capable of dealing with these new breeds of Super Mutant. She felt pretty useless at the moment. She also felt pretty hung over. Two hours of sleep in the Common Room didn't do it. Stefanie popped in a Buffout as she spied an Overlord carrying a gatling laser in from the side. She jumped up over a pile of rubble bringing her Power Fist down and smashing the weapon. She ducked under a backhand swing from the mutie and punched it's knee. No give. She rolled to the side to avoid a hammer blow that smashed the ground and punched the mutie in the lumbar. She punched twice, dropping the mutant to a knee before avoiding another backhand blow. She ran up the kneeling mutie's back, her metal spiked boots digging into it's skin while giving her traction on it's back. She slammed her Power Fist into the back of it's head and neck repeatedly until it finally collapsed onto it's face. She smashed and smashed, punching and stomping the back of it's head until it stopped thrashing beneath her. With it's head a smashed gooey mess on the ground, she looked up, receiving a nod from Jacob Vaughton. She smiled as they moved on. She still wondered where they were going.
"What the hell were those things? They looked like Super Mutants," Aaron paused for a moment, "But much, much bigger." He reloaded his assault rifle, putting in his last magazine. He knew that he should've bought more ammo at Rivet city, but he was a bit low on caps at the time, and still is. The exhausted wastelander rose from behind his cover, walking over to Domingo's tank. Jackal and him were busy configuring with a new menacing addition to the vehicle. He approached Stefanie, who was looking more and more out of it by the second. "You alright? You look like death... no offense." He would wait for her response to offer medical help. Over his life in Austin, Aaron had acquired quite the talent in medical expertise. He gritted his teeth as he thought of his time as a Union field medic, all of the wounded, the dead. To this day, he still has not seen anything, or anybody, as savage as the Southern Enclave. He vividly remembers one battle when they raided an "experimental hospital". The horrors seen there, they haunted his every dream. He had tried to save a small girl, most likely around 8 or 9, whom had been severely mutated and engineered on. It seemed that she was in the miste of being turned into another horrible creation. Her eyes, her beautiful eyes, had been cut open in the matter that her eyelids and the skin around the eyes had been removed. She had stitches keeping them from closing, along with around her mouth. When he did come to her rescue, he already knew the outcome. There was no hope for her, she was going to die. But her eyes, those beautiful eyes, looked at Aaron with such grace, such hope that she was going to live. Aaron couldn't bear to remember much more than that, only that the little girl had died.
Aaron seemed to trail off in thought, not listening to his companions. He turned back to Stefanie, not sure if she had said something at all. "Say what now? I-I wasn't paying attention."
Stefanie wretched and threw up. She shouldn't get drunk twice in one night. Aaron was standing there, but her kind of wasn't pying attention. She staggered over behind the tank and wretched again. She really wasn't feeling right. Hopefully there wouldn't be too many more encounters with these Overlord Super Mutants "She walked back over to Aaron, who was staring at the ground. "Ramsey, AARON!," she said, snapping her fingers. He snapped up. "You got somethin' for nausea?" she said. He shook his head. Stefanie started walking over to find Strauss. There was no telling what Worthington was carrying. Hopefully he had something. Maybe she could convince Jacob to swing through Bailey so she could get Jeeves and some of her supplies. She needed somehing as she popped a Buffout to steady herself. She stretched her arms up and flexed her muscles, trying to feel better.
Meanwhile, Jacob was sitting up on the back of El Oso, surveying the carnage, a group of Super Mutants that were Behemoths in the making, on a par with Deathclaws in terms of sheer power, but with heavy weapons. Jacob sighed. By killing off the weaker mutants, the Crusade had, in fact, strengthened them as a whole, leaving only the strongest, craziest and most cunning alive. Maybe the Last Legion would do a better job of killing off these overgrown rodents.
Jackal sat looking at the pack that came with the Gatling Laser. There had to be some way to keep that in place so it didn't bounce across the crew compartment and kill someone. He motioned to Jacob to gie him a hand with it. After running through the instructions quickly, Jackal picked up the arc welder and pulled on his arclight helmet. After a few moments of tack welding, he took to welding the frame surrounding the backpack to the bodywork of El Oso properly. That should simplify things a little.
Alexis Ashton bashed his way through the dirt and stoped as he saw a tank travling along.he then turned to see more mutants chasing after him.Ah crap he thought he started running towards the tank "HELP ME im out of ammo and being chased by mutants!"
Jack got up and started running at the man. It seemed he looked relieved for a second, before being clotheslined by Jack to the ground. Jack, then using the last of his grenade launcher ammo, fired at the several super mutants running after Alex. Taking out his Chinese Assualt rifle, he fired into the mutants who had survived the blast, killing them quickly. "That's for the Enclave Base, jack ass."
Alexis pulled himself up "jack you idiot im not the one who knew what was going to happen" he dusted himself off and searched the mutants he grabbed some ammo for his .44 and turned back to jack. "so can i tag along with you?"
Domingo looked over at Jackal expertly weld the pack's frame into the wall of El Oso and replace the components. Domingo did the honors of plugging in the last few wires before sliding into the pilot's seat and looking at the controls, starting the tank up with the various mechanical methods required (I don't know how to start a tank, okay D':) and turning it away from the assorted members of the group. He zoned in on a lumbering Super Mutant, well inside the range of the Laser Chaingun.
"Target ahead, bearting two-five-zero, liningg you up for a shot. Go ahead and fire the chaingun when ready, Jackal." Domingo said, still adjusting the tank as the Overlord finally caught the scent of burning fossil fuel and turned in the general direction of the formidable new tank.
"sweet jesus that thing is working"
Strauss flipped down his helmet's eyescope and lifted his Laser Rifle, pressing the stock firmly against the shoulder of his armour as he took aim on the spot of flesh between an unsuspecting Frankenstein's eyes. He continued to move alongside Domingo's tank at quite a pace, the braces in his Power Armor's arms allowing him to maintain his aim despite pretty much running. While one of the Super Mutants came to focus on the tank, yelling something about it and drawing his target's attention away, he fired. It screamed and clutched its face, shouting something about "EYE HURT!". What the fuck are these things eating for breakfast? Titanium? Regardless, he followed up with two successive shots that brought it down as the barrels of the tank's new Gatling Laser began to rotate.
Alexis ran alongside the tank taking pot-shots with his .44 magnum the servo-motors in his wrist piece acounting for the backlash one of the bullets hit the mutie in the chest.He caught up with strauss "nice to see you again strauss reminisant of the first time we met isn't this"
"Alex! Seven fucking years, man!" Strauss laughed as his old acquaintance greeted him, lowering his rifle momentarily to slap Alex on the back lightly. He smiled to himself underneath his helmet as he recalled the times when he was first adapting to the Wasteland. His smile was wiped away when he recalled the incident with the Enclave. "I'll talk to you later, man. In the meanwhile, there's Uglies to toast!" He said as he peppered one of the Mutants Alex had shot (but not killed) with laserfire, sending its hulking carcass crashing to the floor.
Jacob fired his M72 at the next Mutant to show it's ugly face. Sadly, it was a standard Super Mutant Master. Nonetheless, Jacob felt that indescribable pang of satisfaction as it's head disintegrated. The next shot he cracked off caught an Overlord, tearing a large chunk out of the muscle on the sides of it's neck. And it was still alive, somehow. Jacob grimaced as he fired a second shot, the 2mm bullet punching through the Mutant's head and igniting on the inside, blowing out the back of it's skull. So a hypervelocity HEIAP bullet still did the job. Jacob leaned back on the top of El Oso and took more pot-shots at the Super Mutants, killing some in two or three shots, some in four. And a few in five. These things were fucking tough. Well, actually, he only killed one for each different number of shots, but he was so used to killing Super Mutants in one that it felt like a lot more.
Alexis grinned at strauss "Lets go mutie killing!" he shot at one of the muties with his .44 the servos in his wrist reducing the backlash.He jumped on top of the tank and fidled with the obselete stubber."ah-hah" he sprayed another of the muties with bullets
Riley climbed onto the tank.
"I believe the point where the Crusade fought their splinter group or something, I'm not really sure, is up ahead. I'm going to go scout out, and come back in a few minutes to see if there all done blowing each others brains out. Lastly, how the fuck can you guys fit so many people in such a small tank?"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 00:18, 5 May 2009 (UTC) (I'm....back)
Weston, now being sober and having a headache, moved along the D.C Ruins. Someone was kind enough to leave a note that they left Rivet City in search of loot. What they forgot to mention, however, was that it was Crusade loot. Following some rather obvouis tank-tread paths, he soon found the group's postion. Of course, he had to sprint in order to catch up with them, before hopping aboard the tank.
"Hey fellas, where we going?
"Well, look what the metaphorical cat dragged in. We're headin' some place up north, north-west I think, along the Potomac. Gonna go hunt us some Crusaders, scav some gear and technology, all that jazz." Strauss responded, moving alongside the tank (which was now going at walking pace) casually. There was nowhere near enough room for another person on the tank, let alone somebody in Power Armor, so Strauss was the one who had to walk. God damn logic.
"If you were a bit smaller I'd have Cat lift you,"
Jack was looking through his Sniper Scope. It seemed that the whole place was a battle ground, most of the dead were in BRA's(Snicker), although on a count it turned out that those with power armor outnumber the dead men wearing BRAs (Snicker once more) slightly. He got up, and started to head back to the group.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 01:16, 5 May 2009 (UTC) (Aww, g2g to agian. My renwned activy here has been renswed!)
Aaron looked at the tank, filled to it's limit with people. It is true that he wanted the rest it offered, but he was doomed to walking with tired legs. Jack had taken point and was scouting out the area, looking for the Crusade. Aaron wasn't sure about engaging the Crusade, especially not when they are at war. His companions held the claim that they were only going to scavenge, but Aaron knew better. These guys obviously had some sort of previous feud with the extremist faction, the type of thing that could only spell trouble for Aaron, who was, as of now, neutral to the Crusade. He had seen the effects of being on their KOS list and it's not pretty. They would send people after you in your sleep, murdering you while you dream. That was something Aaron defiantly wanted to avoid, he has had enough of that in Austin.
He looked over to Stefanie, who was busy hurling the remains of her last dinner. Sighing, he slowed down and waited for her to catch up. "Here, take some of this," Aaron pulled out a bottle of Kaopectate and placed it in her hands, "It'll lessen the nausea, but it's been known to be quite addictive, so..." Aaron really didn't know how to put this considering it was a junkie he was talking to, "Just be careful with the amounts. I know about your addiction already, I could see it in your eyes."
Stefanie took the bottle and chuckled. "In my eyes huh? I'd've figured you could see it with all the Buffout I take?" She gave him a friendly slap on the back before taking a dose of Kaopectate. "Picked up some baggage in Zanadu. Got this habit, got my past, who knows what else I got. Only fortunate thing is all this damn radiation kills most disease that comes along. Only time I ever felt like I was doing somethin' good was cage fightin'. Then I'm only doin' what's good for me. I've crippled people, killed people. To make a living. Thats the cold facts out here though. Everyone does it." Aaron was looking at her woefully. He had to be thinking of what a bleak outlook she had. Stefanie looked over to where the group was filling another Super Mutant with holes. "If you look at it close, we're all the same. It's how we carry ourselves between all the drug addiction, the fighting, the killing, the buyin' and sellin' of humans. I can stand here and have this conversation with you now, because outside the cage, I understand. I understand notions of 'peace' and the value of human life. I understand that Jackal in there is just as good as Strauss over there. That being a ghoul makes him no less human. That's the difference." Stefanie was starting to feel better. "Ignorance precipitates violence out here. That's the way it is now." Stefanie turned to Aaron and gave the bottle back. "Who are you looking for? Jacob said something about 'Outcasts.' If that's the case, I have something that may help you."
Alexis sat on top of the tank squezed between Alex(Rily but alexis knows him as alex) and a harsh looking man(Jacob) looking down at the walkers."if you want il swap with you Conner"
"Si, where are we going?" Domingo popped his head through the driver's hatch to see a crowd of people had gathered on top of a tank normally capable of seating four people...
"And you all realize there's a trailer directly behind you... Right?"
Alexis looked behind him to see the trailer "ahh il ride in there.Conner get up"
Jack came back, and noticed the amount of people on a tank. He soon forgot about that, and started to tell people about the loot there. It seemed that Stefanie was drooling for a second, before coming back to her senses. They then headed off, with the tank slightly less loaded with people.
Jacob crouched and picked up an SCM Officer Sword from the edge of the battleground. The place was a graveyard. There were some fresh graves dotted around, presumably those of the Last Legion Soldiers, while the Airborne Loyalists had been left to the crows and the Feral Ghouls, which Jacob scattered by firing a P90 M-Heavy in the air, and then into any of the Ferals that didn't scatter. He scratched his chin as he looked around the battlefield. It looked like the trenches had after Fairfax. He shuddered. This was only a skirmish.
"Happy Christmas." Jacob called to Stefanie as he tossed another SCM Sword to her, and then another to Ramsey. He was strategically ignoring the newcomer. Mostly because Jack, who was essentially Little Jacob, was pissed with him for some reason. Jackal picked up his own SCM Sword, one of those fancy-ass Praetorian models, with the ivory-style handle and the double-tempered blade. Seeing that there were superior varieties dotted around, Jacob not-so-subtly tossed the sword he had picked up first and went searching for a Praetorian sword.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 22:15, 5 May 2009 (UTC)
Weston was sitting atop the Sherman tank, Assualt rifle slung over his back. In his hand was a Nuka-Cola. His robot took one too many bullets during the route to Rivet City, after running into some Raiders. Looking around him, he noticed that Jacob was walking around a small battlefield, as was Jackal. In fact, the whole scence struck him as odd. Once, he manged to get a outdoor movie theater going. The movie that was problay the last one the people watching saw was a movie based on World War 2. There was a scene where the soldiers were riding atop a tank alike this one. Expect, they were laughing, talking. They also were'nt moving through a Wasteland. Finshing off the Nuka-Cola, he threw it off the tank watching it smash agiasnt a runied wall. Checking his ammo, he had at least 10 clips, not inceluding the one already chambred. When that ran out, he could switch over to his SMG, which was plenty of ammo. When all of those ran out, well, he had his friends to cover his back.
"Hey, whats Christmas?"
Jack heard Weston say something, he wasn't sure. "What Weston?" Weston took a moment to reply, "What's Christmas?" He seemed curious about it, and Jack suddenly remembered what it was. "I read a book once, long time ago. A picture book, for children I believe. Anyway, Christmas is a holiday celebrated by a group of people, some sort of religion. It has to do with their Messiah being born, and a fat guy in a red suit. Sounds silly, no?"
Domingo plucked Jacob's sword out of the air as he combed the remains of the battlefield for anything worth the trouble of searching. He withdrew a small foil package from one of the pockets of his leather jacket and unwrapped it, revealing a perfectly preserved granola bar. He bit down into it as, with his free hand, he tied the SCM Sword to his belt. If Jacob wasn't going to settle for inferior technology, Domingo would content himself with whatever he could salvage. This meant more pay for him, when the goods made it to Megaton, anyways. Hell, those people hadn't even managed to get to the fresh water yet. They would pay top dollar for any guns they could get, considering all they had for a guard was a man who stands on a fucking bridge above the entrance all day.
By the end of the search, Domingo had dragged five Laser Rifles, eight Laser Pistols, three SCM Officer Swords, two intact suits of T-45 Power Armor, one suit of Combat armor and enough bullets to keep the Megaton residents going for a week, all of which was currently being stowed in the back of the trailer, sorted away neatly in field-procured Enclave supply crates. Satisfied with his work, Domingo leaned against the trailer and clenched a cigar inbetween his jaws. Clipping the tinfoil-covered end off, Domingo carefully struck a match and felt the smoke cover his lungs.
When he heard Foster talk from on top of the tank, Domingo looked over to the man and pulled the cigar out from betwen his teeth. "Christmas," He attempted to explain, "was an old religious holiday based on the burning of Jesus Christ by Arab soldiers after he began preaching Taoism to the people of Iran. We used to celebrate it by passing around fancifully wrapped, expensive gifts and eating massive feasts at dinnertime."
He smiled a bit. "Don't you see why we don't celebrate it anymore? It's wildly impractical."
Stefanie examined the sword, swinging slowly in wide arcs. Swords were never her thing. Fortunately, this was more of a large machete than a sword, though by the looks of it, it was made more for thrusting than slicing. It was still much better quality than most of her stuff. She slung the sheath across her back and slid the sword in it. Stefanie looked down at a dead Crusader wearing a Power Fist. More her style. She placed her foot on the dead man's arm and pulled, removing the Power Fist from his stiff grip. She threw it onto her pile of things. Hopefully someone would help her move her keep into the trailer so she could get it safely back to her bunker. If she had Jeeves here he'd be happy to carry it. She was making out fairly nicely. She did leave the Power Armor to the others. Despite making a profit from slavers in Zanadu, there was no way she'd be selling those egotistical morons Power Armor. She half listened as the others dicussed some long-forgotten holiday. Eh, she reached down and picked up a Combat Helmet. She ran her eyes over it briefly before tossing it on her pile. She really needed some help stowing this stuff.
Aaron propped himself against a crate of ammunition, 5.56 he believed. Domingo sure was carrying some precious cargo, it'd be no surprise if some greedy raiders were tracing them right now. The rest were in some conversation about religion, Christmas to be exact. He had read about it, not interested. Buddhism though, he'd always curious of it ever since visiting the Tibetan Temple in South Austin. Unlike Jay, Aaron was not very faithful. He had thought about it at times, but ultimately ignored religions. Maybe once he was older. Right now, he was more interested in what Stefanie was talking about. She was busy swinging her new sword around. Aaron disliked the things, reminded him too much of the Biosoldiers in Austin. He continued with their earlier conversation, "Stefanie, I know what you mean by human values. I've killed. I've killed men, women, and children even. I'm not proud of it, but I do it out of survival. I've never been to Zanadu, but where I was born, this place seems like a fucking paradise. But growing up in the damnedest pit of hell and then comin' here, it just kinda stuns you to the point that you just don't want to kill out of pure jealousy. Why is it fair that these people can live peacefully here while I'm always terrified, fighting and starving, knowing that any second you could be decapitated or captured?" Aaron scuffed, shook his head, and pulled out a cigarette. The smoke he inhaled in the tobacco calmed him, "Heh, guess I'd be a hypocrite if I called you an addict, eh?"
Aaron pulled the cigarette from his mouth, blowing out little rings of smoke, a trick he learned from a certain Miles Parker. "So, you said something about the Outcasts? You see, I came here in search of my older brother, Jay Ramsey. 11 years ago he left Austin with a band of Brotherhood of Steel guys headed east. I won't go over the details now, but the point is that I want to know if he still lives. In Austin, we already declared him dead, but that's not something I can so easily accept." Aaron exhaled, he'd been tired of saying that same paragraph, "Please, just tell me what you know."
Stefanie sighed. "Your brother was cast out of the Brotherhood of Steel. He is among those brothers known as Outcasts. I've taken up residence in whatis apparently an abandoned outpost of theirs. My Mr. Handy Jeeves uncovered records of their departure to the West Coast. Your brother's name is Jay, correct? If so, his name was among the survivor's list following the battle in the city of Fairfax to the west of D.C. If he 's still alive, I think he went with them back west. Accordin' to records left at the bunker that is." Stefanie flexed her fingers with her Power Fist. "That's what I know. Sorry if it's not enough. Jacob knew the Outcasts well. You should talk to him." Stefanie gazed over to where Vaughton was picking through loot. Stefanie turned back to all the other loot scattered everywhere and went back to picking through it as she popped another Buffout.
Alexis looked through the pile of dead plenty of power armor and a load of fancy ass swords he picked up some more ammo and scrap for his armor.
Riley finally woke up, and found that he was in the trailer suddenly. Strange. And Cat was missing! "Where the fuck is my dog!!" Riley yelled, and found that Cat was biting at Stefanies power-fist. "Better not go off on him." Riley told her, laughing.
Stefanie circled slowly around Cat in a fighting stance. She'd fought animals in the pits as well as people. The slavers called it a "creature feature." She looked up as Riley shouted to her. "I'm gonna sock your dog right in the suck hole!" she said to Riley, "he's after my Pork N' Beans again!" Cat growled lightly at Stefanie who looked back at him. "Cat come!" she heard Riley shout. Cat backed up and happily trotted to Riley. "You lucky pooch!" Stefanie said. They had managed to get her share of the loot loaded into the trailer, but now they were making a stop for a little break. She hoped Domingo's contraption would hold up enough to get her stuff to her bunker, or "safe spot," as she called it. She still didn't know how she was gonna get everything back to Zanadu. That was a matter for another day. She popped in a Buffout and plopped down on the ground. She needed to take a load off. Most of the others had ridden on the tank, but she was too slow. To the south, a heard of Brahmin passed by. Wonder if it'd be easy to ride one of those? she thought to herself, chuckling.
Jack was dragging dead bodies over to the Trailer. He would half to strip the armor off them later, then let the raiders take care of them. Well, not the raiders, as Jack was against Necrophilia. Deciding that he would either make a large pit, probably from a mini nuke, or just burn the bodies after they died. It seemed that the Crusaders had already moved on, leaving most of their dead behind.
Strauss sifted through the pile of corpses and abandoned munitions. His first priority was .357 ammunition for his Desert Eagle, which he found in copious abundance. In the process, he recovered several grenades of various kinds and a few nifty-looking swords. He balanced one in his hand momentarily, pondering its applications, before putting it away. He deposited the majority of his loot in Worthington's storage compartment, which was rather packed, and dusted his hands off. Finally, he removed one of the fallen Crusader's gasmasks and peered at it. Wonder what those glowing goggles are powered by.
After that, he began to help Jack load the bodies into the trailer.
A crowd of Sweepers were storming through D.C., they had managed to escape the Enclave before they could be brainwashed. They smelt humans, and they saw tracks, and began to follow the tracks. (They are not near the tank yet)
Jackal sat in the trailer of the tank. What was Domingo doing with four oxygen cylinders here. Then, a thought struck Jackal. He knew how to make a thermal lance. And now he had the materials. He detached the barrel from a DKS Sniper Rifle, and began to stuff it full of iron filings. He then welded a small metal shield to one end and hooked the Oxygen tanks to that end. He had to jury-rig the splitter, but if he only used one tank, the valve would freeze and the lance would be useless, so it was worth the risk.
"Hey, Domingo, I think I just found a way for you to cut a hole in El Oso to make that escape hatch." Jackal shouted. Domingo looked at him, a strange look in his eyes. Apparently, he had been joking when he talked about cutting a hole in the side of his beloved jalopy.
"Well, that's ten minutes of my life I'm never getting back." Jackal sighed. He had set the pressure on the tanks and got the small torch, the hand-held acetalyne torch ready for setting it up and all.
(There is a point to this. A thermal lance can cut clean through steel, concrete, stone, and Sweepers)
Domingo sighed as he looked at Jackal. "Just put it up on top of the tank, set it directly behind the plow. Maybe we'll find a use for it."
Domingo couldn't hear the Sweepers closing on the tank, and he also couldn't see them due to limited (read as: almost nothing) visibility from the pilot's slot. The tank pilot did, however, see some lights in the distance. Slowing the tank to a stop, Domingo poked his head through the pilot's hatch and looked towards the group assembled on the ground. "Stefanie!" Domingo shouted from his post. "Is that your fortress, up ahead in the rubble?"
Fireman0504 Be aware: Stefanie has all sorts of scavenged gadgets and gizmos down there. Nothing outrageously rare or powerful, but possibly useful. She is one to pick up all the "shiny things." Haha.
Stefanie climbed up on the tank to get a better look. "Does it look like a whole in the ground?" She noticed the obvious shape of a crane rising up above some girders. The cable extended down to her lift. It was indeed her "fortress." Stefanie chuckled. It had never been called a fortress before. Her Safe Spot was deep below and she smiled, knowing how happy Jeeves would be to see her. She wondered if he'd prepared supper for just her or for her company too.
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 23:49, 6 May 2009 (UTC)
"I hope theres food.."
Weston got off the tank and slung his Assualt rifle over his shoulder. Lifting the brow of a combat helemtt from his first engament with the Crusade, He looked at it. He had painted several things upon it, such as kill tallys, which now stands at 12, and some slogans such as "Born to kill" or a "Don't trad on me"=. The last one he found on a pre-war book, something about a 'Reavltion' or a 'revolutin' or something of that matter.
Jack was sitting down, minding his own business when he spoke. "We should loot the Claws HQ."
Alexis was sat on a rock fidling with a piece of his armor when he heared jack talk about looting the claws HQ."huh why would you do that theres no good loot and aparantly theres turets guarding it"
"Then we raze it to the ground. If at all possible we should salt the earth too. The turrets will be no problem. After all, they were put up by employees of Bren Tenkage." Jacob sneered. Apparently, he still rather disliked Bren and the Claws. Although, the sentiment was shared by the entire Capitol Wasteland, so he wasn't the only one thinking it.
"I'm in. And I call first dibs on the loot." Jackal piped in, sitting down at the back of the room, reading a copy of Pugilism Illustrated.
Stefanie listened as the group discussed looting the Claws HQ. She still didn't know who these guys were. Apparently the wasteland had a vendetta against them though. If the rest of the group disliked them that was good enough for her. "I'm in," she said. "You guys wanna crash here for the night? There's lotsa cots down there. And, I been scavengin' from all over D.C. so I got lotsa loot down there. Spare parts, ammo, weapons, booze, food. Jeeves can fix us up a good meal. He hasn't had company in a long time. I'm sure he wouldn't mind. Plus we're underground a ways and away from everythin' that's up here." Jacob looked at her. "You know what this place is right?" Stefanie cocked her head to the side. "This is my safe spot," she chuckled. "This is the D.C. outpost of the Brotherhood of Steel Outcasts," he said sternly, "Tell me, did they leave anything down there?" Stefanie shrugged. "A little bit. Some records and holotapes addressed to the Brotherhood, a list of soldiers who left on somethin' they called 'the Exodus,' and there's a safe down there I can't get into. Most of the stuff down there I put there after finding it everywhere. You guys can come on down if you want and check it out," Stefanie said, stepping onto the lift. Jacob looked at Aaron Ramsey, who now looked very interested in the situation.
"I'm in! I wonder what kind of shit they left down there.. or did you take it already?" Riley said to Stefanie, "also, when we get to the Super-Duper Mart, I'm takin' the terminal, I left some of my stuff on it."
"In my experience Stefanie, anything that can't be opened by normal means, can be blown up. Also, the claws shit were going to put in a pile, then we take turns grabbing the shit we want. Also, we each get to have dibbs on one object, that fair?" Jack walked over to Stefanie, and went on the lift. "Anyone else want to come?"
"You guys wanna come in for supper or not?" Jack stepped on the lift. "I'm not sure what's in the safe, and I don't want to risk damagin' it. It's prolly somethin' good too. I haven't gotten rid or taken any of the historical stuff, I figure that'd be important to someone. Maybe sell it to the Brotherhood. Of course, it seems a few of you had deep connections with these Outcasts, so maybe you can just have it. We'll figure itt out after supper." she smiled. "Anyone else?"
Strauss followed Jack to the lift, glaring at him. "Hang on a second, Jackie. I just happen to be living in the place you're talking about looting." He suddenly interjected, sounding rather annoyed. All he recieved in response were blank stares. "... So?" Jack responded nonchalantly, tilting his head to the side, "it's not as if you can't find a new place to live." The bounty hunter did have a point. Wasn't he meant to be holding the fort for the group until they came back, though? The same group that everyone seemed to despise... he sighed. Maybe it was time to leave the Claws. Wasn't really a full member, anyway. All I did with them was go to Vault 106 to patch up Bren. Before he joined, all he heard about the Claws was helping people this, fighting Talon Company that, offering aid to strangers and then some. But the fact that they left meant that they must have cared more about their own asses than anyone else's. The reality of it had only just dawned on him.
"... Okay, nevermind," Strauss said, resignedly. "You guys can do whatever the fuck you want with the place. I'm taking the turrets, the Sentry Bots. In fact, I'm taking them, no negotiations, since I set up half of it."
Stefanie listened to Strauss. Apparently he was a Claws member. He seemed cool enough. And now from the sounds of it, he was leaving the group. Oh well. Once everyone was aboard, Stefanie activated the life. They were sent several stories down and it finally stopped at a set of heavy doors. They opened revealing two turrets that tracked back and forth but did not fire, and a greeting from a Mister Handy hovering in the room. There were crate and weapons and barrels and all manner of scraps and bits neatly arranged throughout the room. "Good evening Madam!" Jeeves said. He sounded almost extatic for a robot. "It is so good to finally see you- Oh! You have guests! I was anticipating on only your return. I have dinner ready in the kitchen for you." Stefanie looked at her companino smiling as the group got off the lift. "Thank you Jeeves," she said, "I see you've cleaned the place up. Would you mind fixing dinner for the rest of our guests?" she said. "Certainly, Madam!" The robot promtly hovered off to the kitchen to complete his task. "Make yourselves at home," she said as they entered the hallway. It was lined with cots and more crates and barrels and weapons and assorted loot. The group began to make themselves at home, looking at different trinkets and gizmos and weapons. "Supper will be ready in a little bit," she said.
So conner had finaly goined a group well good for him though now it seamed he was leaving them.He pulled up a weapons crate and sat on it."if were going to loot the claws HQ we have to do it soon.Most of the wasteland want it burnt down and il bet they'l start soon"
Domingo looked over at the group, where Jeeves hovered off to was deserted. Seeking out a seat (he decided he would explore later), Domingo finished off his cigarette and stuck the butt into his pocket. "I wouldn't advise going after the Claws HQ with anything less than a squad of Talon Company mercenaries," The sagelike tank pilot advised, "There've been increased readings of raiders gathering around that area, coming up from the memorial bridge downriver. Money's on them planning a siege and raze attack; bust down the defenses, then smash through the doors and burn the place down."
He looked around at the assorted members of his party: A warrior Weapon, a ghoul scavenger, a pit fighter, a mercenary, a professional assassin and a technician- and himself, of course, a tank pilot. "On second thought," Domingo said, "We'd probably be alright. But we can spare an extra day to eat and rest here on Stefanie's hospitality before we crack the HQ open like a lobster."
Alexis started to fiddle with his data-pad looking over the data he had recorded earlier he looked at the details forb the tank again."domingo that tank of yours what make is the cannon"
Jacob surveyed the place. He ran his hand along the list of names. Survivors of Fairfax. One name stuck out to him ahead of the others. Jacob Vaughton. He smiled. Then a lump formed in his throat. The Outcasts had been the closest thing he ever had to a family since, well, his real family were murdered. He scratched his chin as he considered what might have been if he had joined them in the Exodus. Austin, and more. He looked around again. Everyone seemed to be happy sitting down, looking at things. Jacob sighed and found a nice quiet corner, where he slid down a wall and sat there, staring into the middle distance. So much had happened, he hadn't really taken it all in. The weight of his actions in the DC War were still washing over him. He had spared the Wasteland from the inevitable retribution the Crusade would inflict after Tenkage's attack on them. But he had struck a deal with the Enclave. He had sold his soul for the sake of the people.
Jackal was sitting in a makeshift chair, comprising of several sandbags he painstakingly piled up for the last five minutes, essentially forming a large beanbag chair. He lounged backwards, and watched Jacob wander off deeper into the facility. That man was an enigma. He then pulled a cigar from his pocket, bit off the end and lit it up. Domingo looked at him in horror at the treatment of the hand-rolled tobacco stick. Jackal responded with a grin that made Domingo's expression change yet again. Domingo now looked utterly confused.
Domingo sighed as he watched Jackal mutilate the cigar by ripping off the foil piece with his teeth, then light it up. He merely produced another cigar and clenched it between his teeth as he turned towards Alexis.
"It doesn't have a cannon." Domingo said around the stick clenched in his teeth. "I don't know if you've been hitting el magico maleza (The Magic Weed, Marijuana), but you just rode for five miles on top of a Sherman Tank that's been completely disarmed for the better part of two hundred seventy years." Turning back towards the rest of the group, he kicked up his feet and leaned back against a pile of ammunition crates, relaxing his legs and dozing underneath the fluorescent lights.
Now he thought about it that was a stupid question.Alexis pulled out his own stash of alcohol and drank it in a long gasp."so domingo were do you come from?"
Stefanie walked down the hallways. Everyone was relaxing, taking a load off with no gunfire, no rubble, no explosions, no beligerant drunk wasters, no overzealous bigot Crusaders. Just food, drinks, smokes, and good company. She smiled to herself. Offering this hospitality was the least she could do to the closest friends she had since her parents were killed. She retrieved two bowls of Pork N' Beans from the kitchen and set one down for Cat. She ate the other as she walked into another room where Jackal, Jacob, Domingo, and Alexis(?) were sitting. "Enjoy my D.C. safe spot," she said, "Company is welcome any time." Jeeves hovered over with an assortment of food. "Good day, gents," he said politely, "care to take a sample of any of my delicious food items? My mistress here has enhanced my already notable culinary skills with the benefits of a Radiation Extracting Food Processor. You'll find that the extracted radiation allows for a very notable increase in flavor. You are welcome to sample any of my delightful dishes." They all stared at him. Stefanie broke out laughing. "You're always so polite Jeeves," she said. His primary sensor swiveled to look at her. "Madam, I am programmed to offer my services with friendliness and pride. If you would like me to explain this again, I would be happy to run diagnositc .427... again." She continued laughing. "No, it's okay, I'm fine." she squeezed out between laughs. "You have quite the sense of humor, Madam." Stefanie settled down. "o ahead guys, he's really a good cook, take whatever you'd like."
Domingo lifted a plate off of Jeeves' manipulator arms and looked over the plate. It was Mirelurk Cakes, one of his favorite dishes, that had been fried and breaded with some vacuum-sealed Pre-War bread crumbs. Biting down into one of the savory cakes, he felt the tastes spread across his tongue- Slight traces of thyme, cayenne pepper flakes, garlic pepper...- before swallowing the mouthful.
He swivelled on his seat back towards Alexis. "Well, I am formerly from a small settlement in the south of the former Socialist Republic of New Mexico. Raiders came along and destroyed the settlement, took me as a slave and retreated. About ten years later, I escaped, killed the slavers and travelled cross-country to the Capital Wasteland. I found El Oso in a decomissioning yard, halfway torn apart on a conveyor belt with its turret ripped to scrap beside it. I managed to get it running and drove to the Promised Land." He smiled. Apparently 'Promised Land' was some sort of code for 'Capital Wasteland'.
"I've been all over the continent- as far south as Nicaragua and as far north as the Labrador Peninsula. I've traded goods for the better part of five years, and I've always found my way back here. Fate, I guess."
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 18:13, 10 May 2009 (UTC)
Weston was chowing down on some Brhamin Steak. He had'nt that for a while, and he saw it on theplate...well, it looked like Jackal wanted it, but he got to it first. Weston was sitting atop a table, 2with a Nuka-Cola near him. His helment was off, reavling a head with a almost buzz-cuted brown hair with straks of blonde in it. Of course, he actually left his Assualt rifle at the door,. No one would steal it here. Normally, he would have had that thing strapped on his back in fear of something going to take it. Here, they were safe. He knew most of the people here from the Assualt on the Crusade vase, only Domngio and the new guy was nw. Domgino semmed cool, however. Not many people could figure out how to get a tank working.
"Well, Domgino. If you really wante dto arm it, i foud a old water-cooled machine gun near here. we couklld go there, Weld it on and BOOM! You have a armed tank."
"Well," Domingo said, "I've already affixed a laser chaingunin the coaxial mount, but we could bolt it down in the trailer and have a rear-facing armament." Taking a drag on the cigar and another bite of Mirelurk cake, he nodded in Weston's direction. "But for now, we'll rest and recuperate, and mount the machine gun in the morning. It'll wait for us."
The horn of a steamboat swept across the landscape, and soon after a steam engine could be heard. The sound of a slowing pace, then silence. After a few minutes there came the sound of the elevator, and then doors opening.
Domingo cocked his head at the door, lifting his .32 pistol from the interior pocket of his jacket and clenching his cirar tighter in his teeth (because what proper badass snuffs out the cigar shortly before he jumps headlong into a possible confrontation?) as he took aim. Eventually, the elevator doors slid all the way open, revealing...
A tall man dressed in a brown duster, holding an M3A1 Grease Gun in one hand and a small map of the are a in the other. Muttering to himself, the man stepped forward, saying something along the lines of, "Well, I guess if I just go straight I should end up at the simulation room eventually," before he ran right into Domingo- which was pretty much, for a man like Roland Rockfort, a cotton ball being shot into a concrete building.
Picking himself up off the floor, Roland found himself staring straight down the barrel of Domingo's .32. "Now now, friend," Roland said calmly, "no need to point a gun in my face, I'm not here to harm anyone."
"Yeah right," Domingo said, blowing smoke right into Roland's face, which caused the small merchant to enter a coughing fit. "I'm telling you," he shouted, "I'm not here to hurt anyone!"
Jacob spun Domingo to face him and then slammed a fist down on each of Domingo's shoulders, driving him to his knees. Then he administered a heavy-handed knee-kick to Domingo's chest, sending him sprawling. Then he extended a hand to Roland and heaved him to his feet. Jacob looked genuinely happy for the first time in weeks.
"Where the hell have you been Roland?" Jacob shouted.
Alexis looked on with astonishment at the scean.Jacob had just floored domingo and helped the newcommer to his feat."so you know each other then"
Stefanie shook her head. Even with a night of peaceful rest Jacob started a fight. She chuckled to herself though. Guess that's just the type of guy he was. Stefanie stepped over the sprawled out Domingo, who was trying to catch his breath. "And you are?" she said, smiling. Maybe Stefanie was just too friendly with all of the newcomers that showed up at any given time, but then again, that's what living in a slaver town would do to a girl. Make her yearn for a friendly face. Social interaction. Everyone in Zanadu was scared of her, or looked down at her because she'd been a slave. Wasn't her fault she was born that way. She finally had friends now though, in D.C. Problem was all the danger here. This guy was in her safe spot now and if he tried anything, which she betted he wouldn't because Jacob, though friendly now, hated all things bad and was probably as likely to pull the man's legs off as he was to stop Domingo from putting a hole in his face. Now she stood with her hands on her hips, awaiting an answer to her curiosity from anyone.
Domingo fell headfirst onto the ground. Luckily, his helmet prevented too much damage to what little brains he may have had left at any given time. However, hearing the name "Roland" seemed to put a bit of dapper cheer in his step. Every merchant in the DC ruins had heard of the brave seafaring Roland Rockfort, who had fought from every coast on the green (really more brown) earth. "Sorry for hurting you, Sir," Domingo aologized hastily.
Roland nodded in appreciation before he turned back to Jacob. "I've been in California with the Brotherhood. The Outcasts send their regards, Jacob." He turned towards Stefanie next, greeting her cordially in much the same way as he had first greeted Jacob all those years ago:
"I am the night wind that blows howling across the seas and river of this earth, the legend that all men who ply these seas speak of in fear or admiration. I am the undisputed king of the Seven Seas, Roland Rockfort!"
Roland looked over at Jack, stifling a schoolgirlish giggling bout as he looked at that rediculous poncho. Quickly stifling his laughter, Roland managed to come up with one of his signature almost biting retorts.
"I thought having a massive ego would make advertising easier. It's like a used brahmin salesman; the more over-the-top their personality, the more people will want to "buy, buy, buy". It makes sense, if you think about it, Pancho-man." Roland also said 'pancho' wrong, pronounsing it "pawn-chow".
"Well, it's nice to meet you Mr. Rockfort," Stefanie said, "can I interest you in some supper and a place to stay for the night?" Jeeves hovered toward the group laden with more places of delicious smelling food. "Good day my good chap, Jeeves is the name. Can I interest you in some culonary delights the likes of which you haven't tasted before?" The cordial Mr. Handy asked the newcomer, Rocjfort, spinning to offer him some food.
Aaron, tired and focused, barley heard the commotion in the other room. He, along with Riley's dog who was sniffing his leg, was busy going through the Outcast's abandoned battle reports. Oh yes, it mentioned Jay. It even had a whole biography about Aaron's brother, along with every other Outcast of course. Jay seemingly didn't mention his scared past which intertwined with Aaron's. Although the dreadlocked Austinite was mentioned, but only as a relative. It seemed that big ol' brother wasn't the most truthful of the bunch. Jay even claimed to have been born in a peaceful community... Bullshit. But Aaron's quest was done. Jay had headed back home just as Aaron had made this campaign to find him. A sense of depression and regret filled Aaron, both Jay and Jenn probably thought him to be dead as well. It seemed that now he would just head back to that hellhole and try to put this three years of wasted life behind him, something that did not sound appealing to him. Although it would be worth it just to be with his loved ones again. He thought of Jay, Jenn, and himself, sleeping on the rooftop of the UT tower, just gazing at the stars. And then the sirens would ring and fear would instill our hearts once more. Times like this always reminded him of his(More like Jay's) lost uncle, Jacob Ramsey. Jay had gained his ancestors journal of his last moments after Union scavengers had found the book. Aaron had read it quite a lot, studying every aspect. Apparently the early pioneer had been one of the first to witness the Cataclysm start. But the text was truly mortifying, this lone man knowing that these were his last minutes before a grisly death. If only the man had survived.....
Aaron heard his name called from the other room, causing Riley's dog to scramble to the source, probably thinking he was getting food. Aaron rose slowly, stretching his limbs. He grabbed his Shotgun, his Ak-47 being lost somewhere in the wastes, and walked through the door. Everybody seemed to be all stirred up, Aaron could only guess it was from the arrival of some stranger. Aaron turned his head to the ghoul, Jackal, "Hey man, who's the new guy?" Aaron asked with a thumb pointing towards the newcomer.
"Well, I can answer that for you Aaron!" Jack got up from his chair and struck a pose. "He is the night wind that blows howling across the seas and river of this earth, the legend that all men who ply these seas speak of in fear or admiration. He is the undisputed king of the Seven Seas, Roland Rockfort! His entrance, not mine by the way." Jack sat down again and took another bite out of the apple.
Aaron chuckled as Jack mimicked the so-called legend. So the guy had an ego, and was, for some reason or another, lurking around in Stefanie's safe house. So far he seemed a bit suspicious. But one thing did interest him though. This Ronald was mentioned in the Outcast's records of the battle of Fairfax. Maybe Aaron would talk to him about that later, but now he was hungry as hell. He turned to Jeeves, "Pfft! Hey robot! Get me somethin' to eat, I'm starving!"
Strauss had been introduced to two different types of blandness in his life; the tasteless, nutrient-ridden food from a Vault Food Dispenser, and the tasteless, two-hundred year old stuff you find out in the Wasteland. What he was eating now, decidedly, did not fall into either of these categories. Simply put, it was probably the best-tasting meal he'd had in his life. Jeeves had turned what he suspected was once called a preserved Salisbury Steak into a culminary masterpiece. "Hey, Worth," Strauss called out to his robot, "why can't you cook like this?" He asked, culminating in a brief chuckle before taking another bite. The robot pointedly ignored him. "Aww, look, he's jealous." Again, the silence. Strauss shrugged. Conversation would only distract him from eating, anyway.
Roland looked over at Strauss's coment, and the dejected looking Handy that seemed to follow him around so much. "Robot can't cook its own meals?" The merchant smiled, digging around in the cargo-laden pockets of his duster before he came up with a head-sized cube hidden somewhere within the lining. "I've got just the thing."
The box had several wires dangling off it, and the interior components loked a bit old, but otherwise it looked sound enough. Roland pointed out the "radioactive" sign on the casing and said, "I've got a food purifier right here, perfectly sized for a Mister Handy of your model. Two hundred fifty caps, and she's all yours."
Jack was sitting down, twirling the massive revolver in his hand, bored. He then heard the Roland fellow talk about a food purifier. "Roland, I suppose you do know that what you just pulled out is one of the oldest scams in the book, right next to the talking Mole rat." Strauss then turned around to look at Roland, staring at him.
After staring at Roland for a moment with one eyebrow intent on escaping from his face up to the sky, Strauss broke out into laughter. "Don't try that with me, man. I used to be a trader myself. Besides, Worth can condense his own water, and I think I got a food sanitiser sitting in his storage compartment. Moira Brown from Megaton gave me it after I wrangled her a Mole Rat to dissect a few years back. Nice lady," Strauss said, trailing off as he chewed at a mouthful of steak thoughtfully. "Upon analysis of my storage compartment's contents," Worthington suddenly chimed in, "It appears that my Master is correct. Your product is not necessary, nor will you succeed in selling it off for such ludicrous prices." With that, the Handy returned to its smug silence.
"I'm serious." Roland said, completely deadpan. From those pockets, he again produced a chunk of food. He held the food up to his Pip-Boy, wchich crackled as the built-in geiger counter ticked away the rads. Smliing in satisfaction, he said, "now watch as I insert the meat in question here..." Opening one of the panels of the machine, he then proceeded to do something very strange.
He actually rolled up the sleeve of his trench-coat and undershirt, then took out a small knife and cut the skin off his right forearm. Placing his hand into a small hollow, he rolled the skin back into place, then the undershirt and finally the jacket, before unfolding from his clenched hands a tiny fission battery. Taking the loose wires and binding them to the fission battery's poles, he waited as the small machine hummed to life and stood clear as it crackled a few times. "And now we wait five to ten minutes for it to purify the food."
What Roland hadn't expected, however, was the fact that the machine actually burst into bright red flames as it sat on the small table in front of him. Roland, in a bout of explitives fit to make even the dirtiest of foul-mouthed men cringe in horror, half-jumped and half-teleported as far from the flame as possible. As usual, Domingo came lumbering over with a fire extinguisher and hosed the machine off
Roland smiled a bit, carefully thumbing the machine's interior components open until he reached the fried, charred, rock-solid piece of what may have at one point been food. Holding up the pebble-sized burnt chunk to his Pip boy again, he showed the Pip-boy readings to everyone, noting out loud that "Not a single chunk of radiation is sensed on this thing, at only the cost of every internal component." Looking down at the charred, smoking husk of what was once a food purifier, he sighed.
"Perhaps I should've put a bit more work into fixing it before I decided to go out and market it..." The merchant shook his head as he scooped up the charred rubble and placed it back inside his jacket. "Perhaps I can interest you gentlemen in something else, though?"
The man walked his Brahmin towards the structure that he THOUGHT should've been there. Fortunately, he was not particularly disappointed, as the elevator shaft soon appeared to him. Checking over the elevator mechanism and tapping on it a few times with a finger, he nodded, satisfied that going down on it would not end in a cataclysmic plummet down to his death. He stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button to go down, first preparing his shotgun in a position pointing towards the ground.
The gun could be brought up if someone nasty decided to pop up out of nowhere and try and kill him. After all, if travelling most of the Midwest and East Coast had taught him anything, it was keep your weapon close, and your wits even closer.
Jacob raised an eyebrow as he heard the rumble of the elevator. With a heavy sigh, he put down his Brahmin Steak and stood up, shooting Cat a look that froze the dog in its place as it went for his food. He drew one of his Desert Eagles, working the action, checking the breach and chambering a round in a strange one-handed movement involving what should have been too much strain on his fingers. Luckily, he was a Warrior Weapon, and the damage the powerful mechanism of the Desert Eagle would inflict on a human hand barely registered with his strengthened body. Even so, he hated doing that one-handed. It was showy, unnecessary, and time-consuming. But he went and did it anyway. He pointed his gun at the elevator, waiting for a target to come into view.
Jackal stood up, trying to mimic Jacob's hand movements as he drew his own Desert Eagle, but found that his Ghoul hands couldn't apply the necessary force to hold the gun still and cock it with one hand. Instead, the action snapped forwards and launched the Desert Eagle from his grip. He scrambled across the room to pick it up as the elevator continued on its agonizingly slow journey downwards. He aimed his gun at the doors, just as Jacob did. Everyone else seemed to be following their lead, a little apprehensively. Mostly because Jacob's sense of danger was startlingly accurate. So if he had a bad feeling, something bad generally came next.
Hopefully Jacob's Common-Sense (it's a pun on Spidey-Sense) was wrong this time.
Crap another person was coming down,It was like they atrackted them by the dosen.Why was the elevator locked.He decided to ask stefanie about it.Still it never hurt to be prepared he pulled the ammo box from his backpack and started reloading his .44 magnum.The dangerous looking man across the room looked like he was geting ready as well.The elevator slowed to a halt."Stop who's there!"
Domingo heaved a mighty sigh as he rolled his sore shoulders forward, cracked his neck and back, and stood up straight. Plucking the .32 pistol out of his jacket, Domingo trained the muzzle on the elevator door, holding the little pea-shooter one handed. He looked over at Alexis, his brows depressing at the thought of this one man's stupidity.
"He's in an elevator, dumbass... Where is he supposed to go, with walls on three sides, a forty foot shaft on one side and several heavily armed gunslingers on the other?"
Alexis was surprised at Domingo's question.An elevator went both ways and the guy inside could just go back up.He cocked his .44 anyway though.
"Domingo its an elevator idiot it goes both way's the guy inside could just go back up."
He was completely surprised at domingoes question surely the man knew that elevators go both ways.
"You're calling him an idiot when you're the one demanding someone with a steel plate door between them and us stop and wait for us to riddle them with lead? Jeezis, kids these days are dense." Jackal sighed to Alexis. Jacob looked equally peeved at him, and was shaking his head slowly.
Jacob edged closer to the door, ready to open up with a couple of HEIAP rounds, just in case who or whatever was in the elevator turned out to be aggressive. He flexed his hands around one of the handles to open the heavy doors and spun it. As the door ground open, everyone was surprised to see a perfectly normal, and quite cordial looking man standing there, with his pistol close at hand. But all the same, his finger wasn't on the trigger. Jacob gave a signal indicating the all-clear.
"Who the hell are you?" Jacob asked the newcomer.
The Brahmin mooed concernedly as the traveler next to it clutched the shotgun with a steady hand. As he got closer and closer down towards the bottom, he heard voices and shouting coming from inside. Fortunately, it didn't sound like they were setting up an ambush to kill him and take all of his merchandise, so he relaxed a bit, until the door opened. He nodded his head to the angry-looking man with the big pistol, and takes the cigar out of his mouth with his free hand, saying, "Durandal. Now, if none of you are trying to kill me.... Which I don't think you are, unless I'm suddenly famous....." He shrugs slightly, and pats the spooked Brahmin on the left head, calming it down a bit.
He then slides the three-barreled shotgun into a holster on his back, and rolls his shoulders slightly, saying, "You're not raiders, else you would've just shot me without provocation. You're not rival technologists, else you would've just tried to steal all of my things, or, again, would've just shot me dead and taken my things. 9/10 times, I end up in a firefight. Pretty rare when I find a place that isn't trying to kill me, even in the Capital Wasteland. Now Nawlins.... Bit of a different story.... But that's me rambling on. Since I told you who I was, I think I can at least beg the same question from the rest of you?"
Roland and Domingo holstered their respective weapons as Durandal introduced himself calmly, noting the fact that the technical studiologist was to be a resource of use in the future. Both stepped forward at the same time, almost racing to make the trader's acquaintance first. For all anyone knew, they may have been racing, because they were both half jogging by the time they made it to the door of the elevator.
Roland, however, got the upper hand as he backhanded Domingo out of the way with the flat of his robotic hand, nearly flooring the man with ease. The Hispanic man stumbled back, but quickly darted under Roland's outstretched arm and hauled ass up to the elevator doors. The two reached the door at the same time, and simultaneously blurted out:
"Domingo Velasquez, freelance merchant."
"Roland Rockfort, seafaring trader."
The two glared at eachother, as though they had some sort of long-running rivalry and it was bound to come to a head eventually. Of course, they probably didn't. Domingo (and probably Roland) were inebriated and would probably be sleeping off their hangovers hung from the elevator shft like caterpillars in their coccoons.
"Jacob Vaughton. If you've been around DC for a while, you'll have heard the name. Along with a lot of crap about breaking the Crusade. Before you mention that, I'm not a hero. I was there, and I knew what to do. That's all." Jacob said flatly, spinning his pistol and stowing it in it's holter.
"Jackal. I had another name once, but this one suits me better these days." Jackal said, sticking his own D'Eagle back in his pocket, grinning his skull-like grin at Roland and Domingo. He'd lost the belt he kept the holster on during that battle with the Super Mutants, so he was reduced to this.
They both stepped away from Durandal with a curt nod each and looked to the others for their responses. They both kept one eye on the "Technologist" anyway. Who knew whether or not he'd stab them in their sleep and lift their gear.
Durandal simply nodded slightly like an absent-minded bobblehead at the introductions, noting the Desert Eagles, and quirking an eyebrow. "Desert Eagle. Decent firearm, although I think it has too much recoil to be entirely effective, not to mention a pain to find spare parts and maintenance. Sorry if I criticize weapons, that's part of my job." He finally gets back to the other traders who scrambled over to greet him, shaking their hands and nodding, saying, "Traders, huh? Well.... There's a bit of a difference between what I do, and what you do. I keep the choicest bits for myself, unless there comes a deal that I can't refuse, or if people just rub me the right way."
He nods to Jacob, saying, "I've spent the last 5 years wandering the ruins of the Midwest. They got a bit of troubles over there, but I am rather good at making it through places unhurt, especially with a bit of Brotherhood support here and there. So no, I haven't really heard of you. I mostly don't pay attention to stories of heroism anyways, most often the "heroes" are exaggerated greatly, with three arms to carry guns and the ability to carry a Gatling Gun in one hand, or they aren't actually heroes at all." He simply shrugged at the last part. His voice stank of well-tempered cynicism, cultivated through years of hard living.
Thomas swerved once again as Roarke brought his massive weapon to bare again, finally connecting with Thomas' sword one last time. The field ripper broke the sword in half, both pieces falling away to the side. Thomas raised an eyebrow, since he was helmetless, his T-51b helmet having been shot to pieces by enemy forces, which were now pouring inside the walls in an attempt to finally storm the interior of Gilead Point. Thomas frowned. He was weaponless, and fighting unarmed against someone of equal skill and better armament was just complete suicde. "Hmm... it's seems we've reached an impasse, Roarke." Thomas said, stroking his ragged moustache and beard. This day just wasn't working out for him.
"Riley Alan, lives here," Riley said, "No you don't!" Stefanie yelled at him, "Now I do," he said back. And then Cat jumped at Durandal and attempted to rip his bag open until Riley pulled him off. "Sorry, but you've got Pork n' Beans that he wants," Riley said, petting Cat.
Roarke shook his head. He whirled his Field Ripper around himelf and brought the flat side of the blade to bear on the side of Thomas' head, knocking him out cold. Now, just to leave him there, and let him run home to Moore and spread panicking word of Gilead's fall. He moved on, his Field Ripper rising and falling in roaring, blood-soaked arcs as he split soldiers from head to groin and bisected them at the waist. His soldiers flooded through the breach behind him, firing at close range or engaging the Airborne in melee combat.
Roarke stood up straight as he split another soldier, scattering his guts across the nearby melees. He surveyed the carnage from this position at the start of the trenches. This battle was already won.
"Name's Strauss. I guess you could call me a philanthropist." Strauss explained, extending a hand towards the newcomer. However, he retracted it when he saw Cat jump for the stranger's bag, and then burst out into laughter. "Don't mind Cat, he's the craziest dog we know. I mean... a dog. Named Cat. Right? Haha."
Cerebral Jack walked over to Stefanie's robot, grabbed a bottle of vodka and sat back down. "New comer, lets get one thing straight. When we loot shit, you don't get anything because you showed up late. Another thing is that Riley can read your mind, Jacob is from a project that gives Wastelanders super powered combat skills, and everyone else is mentally insane." Jack sat back down, and took a swig of Vodka. "Oh, and I kill people for money."
Durandal was most notably unconcerned about any of the strange motley crew present, nodding to each one in turn as they introduced themselves, and finally acknowledged each one in turn, saying, "Right, so Riley...." He didn't really do anything to stop the dog from attacking the bag. After all, he kept his more valuable components stowed away from the food. He took Strauss' hand and shook it, nodding to the rather rude assassin that spoke up, saying, "Don't care, don't care, don't care, don't care, and don't care. That about cover it, or am I missing a don't care in there somewhere? Those years in the Midwest have almost scavenged me out, so I'm looking for a place to stay for a bit and then move on, not a place to find relics." He shrugs, and crouches down instead of sitting, saying, "So, before I relax for a bit, anyone willing to trade anything...?"
Roland immediately stood up. Looking through his trenchcoat pockets, he rummaged through every last bit and scrap of technology he could find before pulling out one of the myriad components stored in those pockets.
"What don't you have?" Roland said casually. "I can give you a show of my stock if you want."
Dutch Holmes continued to watch the ragtag group that had helped him earlier in the months before. Well, half of the group anyway. Watching them through his binoculars, he grabbed his duffel, filled with all of auxiliary equipment and gear that he didn’t have on his person, and set down the path from the area he had set upon. It took relatively ten minutes to reach them, and by that time, he already had guns raised at him. “Calm down, Jack.” Holmes said, sitting down on a broken over log near the Brahmin caravan. He wasn’t supposed to associate with wasters, but it wasn’t on record anyhow. Jack lowered his weapon, as did Connor, Stephanie, and the newcomer, Durandal. Holmes stood up, stared at his rad signature through his aviator sunglasses, and sized him up. Not very intimidating, except for his weapons. Dutch turned towards Jacob. “Just the man I wanted to see.” Dutch said, his hand ready to move for his sidearm at a moment’s notice. Dutch turned towards the group. “I presume he’s not as itchy on his trigger finger as he was when we escaped, eh?” Dutch said.
Aaron Ramsey threw a half-eaten roll at Jack, who then spewed some pretty nasty curses at him. "Ahh, shut up Jack. You're just as insane as the rest of us." Dodging a counterattack from Jack consisting of him tossing the same roll back at Aaron. Casually, the Austinite picked it back up and continued eating. "Aaron Ross Ramsey, immigrant from down in Austin. The South's a bitch, I'd say stay away from there brother." He downed a glass of purified water, "Either nobody else asked or I just didn't hear them, but I'm gonna ask it anyway. Mind tellin' us why the hell you're down here?"
Just as the newcomer was about to speak, Jacob again rose sporting his pistol. The mans got some sort of damn third eye for sensing shit, and it wouldn't be a surprise either. This was a very strange group of people. Aaron rose, shotgun aimed at the door. He was ready to kick over the table in front of him and blow whoever entered to little bits. It'd give Stefanie's cocky robot something to do as well. The new newcomer entered, but instead of being killed on sight, everybody lowered their weapons. He addressed Jacob and the others, apparently he knew them. How the hell is everybody finding this little underground home? Aaron shook his head and returned to his drink, he just wished he had some more smokes to clam him.
"Listen, Mr. Durandal," Stefanie piped up to the arrogant trader, "this is my home, and these are my friends, see? And you don't just come on down here actin' all arrogant and uppity like, and talkin' down to us all. You'd've come down here with a little more class and a little less ass, I wouldn't be inclined to toss you back on that elevator myself and send you back up into D.C. for the night. Then again, if you're gonna refine your behavior a bit and act a bit more civil, while disregarding Jack, our local sociopath, I'd be inclined to offer you a meal and a place to stay for the night." Everybody, including Jacob, raised an eyebrow at Stefanie. Well, almost everybody. Jeeves was busy cleaning up Aaron and Jack's mess, while Jack sat grinning from ear to ear. Durandal stood up. "So, what's it gonna be there Durandal, you gonna come down to our level a bit? Or are you gonna start packin' your goodies and headin' back up top?"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 19:28, 15 May 2009 (UTC)
"Since when di we have a level? I mean, we have a guy who, sorry, TWO guys that can kill people like crazy, a ghoul that never dies, this hudini guy, two robots, a tank driver, a Outcast wanna be thing, and then we have mwe, who is rather dashingly handsome, to say so my self."
Weston had put away his 10mm SMG and was sitting down on a now vacant chair. Of course, he still was ready to pull out his SMG and rain hot death upon the new comer, who he now flipped off.
"I must object, Mr. Weston. As an Enclave soldier, I must say that I am, in fact, better looking than you." Dutch said. He hadn't been this social before. Ever. As the girl rolled her eyes, Dutch and Weston shot each other a look of competition. Dutch turned back towards the newest member. "I presume we haven't met before. My name is Dutch Holmes. Only the people in this room, including a select few others, know my name. However, almost everyone on the east coast, or northeast and the far west, know my face. That is all you need to know. However, you should also know that me and that man over there," Holmes said pointing towards Jacob, "come from a rather deadly line of people. You'd do wise to avoid crossing me." Dutch said, his sunglasses pulled away by his hand. His blind eyes revealed, he smiled at the newcomer, then replaced them.
"Ignore the blindness. His other four senses form a nice little radar set. It'd be wise not to fuck with us. The Crusade did and they got fucked up." Jacob said, then lowered his weapon to show he wasn't going to start a fight, in spite of threatening Durandal. All things considered, this guy didn't seem too bad. He hadn't shot at them yet anyway. Who knew, maybe he was already an enemy of the Crusade. Which made him an ally to Jacob. Unless he was a Raider or slaver of some sort. Or if he worked for the likes of Raiders, or employed them. Which would technically make him a Raider.
Jacob! Stop trying to find a reason to hurt the poor man! Jacob thought to himself as he realised he was going through the criteria for winding up on his bad side. If he was to list them all, he could be standing there like a moron for hours.
"Well, as a fellow scavenger, I'd like to welcome you to our little circle of psychopaths." Jackal said, with his skull-like smile. But in spite of the kind words, he was the only person in the room with a weapon still drawn. Stefanie seemed to be a good judge of people, and if she didn't like this guy, Jackal, and pretty much everyone in the room had her back all the way. Of course, they had no reason to shoot the fella, so Jackal then decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and holster his shotgun at last. The tension in the room lifted as if by magic. Then, with Jacob still eyeing up the new guy, Jackal sat down and practically inhaled the massive Warrior Weapon's Brahmin Steak. Stuff tasted like crap compared to Pre-War stuff, but he wasn't about to insult Stefanie or her robot for the sake of food he'd never have again.
"Oh, and Weston, I can die just like anyone else, lad." Jackal sighed. "I'm just better at not getting shot than most!"
Riley was wondering how so many people knew where they were, "Did somebody put a sign up saying, 'COME IN HERE PARTY!' or something before we went down the elevator??" Riley asked. And then, immediately after he said that, Dutch Holmes from Jerusalem comes out of the elevator shaft, "Tell me, are there any more people following you?" he asked Dutch, and then everybody had their hellos before Dutch could answer the question. Riley then noticed a shiny weapon sticking out of Dutchs bag, "You didn't have that shiny thing last time we seen eachother.. what is it?"
--Weston "Henchmen" Foster 21:01, 15 May 2009 (UTC)
"wait! Don't ask him! He'll problay kill you!"
With a glare from Dutch, Weston shut up and went back to eating a peice of flaming hot dog meat, which Cat growled at him to no end for.
"I've been traveling." Dutch said, looking away from Weston closing the army duffel to block the weapon from view. "Let's just say that this... thing, is not man-made. More specifically, I borrowed it. From a company. A company's building, more exactly." Dutch said, sittind down again. "It's... sorta strange as a weapon. I've prefer not to talk about it. Also, you weren't that hard to track. Jacob was, but not the lot of you. Your not the most easily blending group of wasters." Dutch said, mocking Riley slightly. Rubbing the waster on the head, he smiled alittle bit, turning back towards Jacob. "He's grown alittle since we last saw him, eh?" Holmes said, laughing alittle. Some of the group chuckled. He looked towards Riley. "We'll talk about that... thing, later. Specifically, with you, little man." Dutch said, whipsering in his ear. He turned back towards the new comer once again. "I presume your going to introduce yourself?" Dutch said, pulling out a beer and tossing one to Weston.
"He already has. His name's Durandal, he's some kind of Technologist. A scavver that keeps the best stuff in his own back pocket. Can't say I blame him, the way things are going these days." Jacob said, relaxing a little now that Holmes was here. As much like a miniature Jacob as Jack was, Holmes was about as close to a little brother as anyone could get. Likewise with the other First Gen Warrior Weapons. Hale and all. Jacob produced a bottle of burboun and took a swig before offering some to Durandal, who accepted graciously, apparently having taken Stefanie's rollicking to heart.
Jackal merely sat back happy in the knowledge that he was the only person ever to have stolen something from Jacob Vaughton and got away with it. Food always tasted better when it belonged to someone else. He swore as Karma made Cat steal what was left of his own Brahmin steak.
"Ha, you stole from Jacob?" Riley whispered to Jackal, who was sitting at the same table as him. He turned to Durandal, "Oh and Durandal, don't steal Holmes shiny weapon, since your a "technologist" and all.." Riley then began eating his own steak well Cat ate Jackals. He then went off into the lab-like area and disassembled his Tri-Beam.. maybe make it a Quad-Beam?
Jack jumped up from the chair startled. "I just realized something! The crazy Enclave guy is less of an asshole then usual!" He yelled out, pointing at Dutch Holmes.
"I should rip out your throat and use it's vocal cords to play jump rope with. No, maybe I should use your intestines." Dutch said, shutting up Jack immediatly. "If the Enclave found out I was associating with wasters, I'd have my head cut off." Dutch said, taking a plate of the brahmin steak. Ripping it apart rudely and downing it in less than a minute or two, Dutch wiped his mouth with his blackened jacket, excused himself, and headed in the direction of Riley, carrying his duffel. Entering the small labs area, he approached the smaller man, who was tinkering with his tri-beam. Removing the rifle, he placed down on the table. "You seems to know alot about techie junk. Tell me what the hell this is. God, I haven't even loaded it yet with the ammo I found." Dutch said, throwing down some ammunition and the rifle onto the table. "Well?" Dutch said. Dutch was experienced with weapons, but this thing was beyond him.
"I should rip out your throat and use it's vocal cords to play jump rope with. No, maybe I should use your intestines." Dutch said, shutting up Jack immediatly. "If the Enclave found out I was associating with wasters, I'd have my head cut off." Dutch said, taking a plate of the brahmin steak. Ripping it apart rudely and downing it in less than a minute or two, Dutch wiped his mouth with his blackened jacket, excused himself, and headed in the direction of Riley, carrying his duffel. Entering the small labs area, he approached the smaller man, who was tinkering with his tri-beam. Removing the rifle, he placed down on the table. "You seems to know alot about techie junk. Tell me what the hell this is. God, I haven't even loaded it yet with the ammo I found." Dutch said, throwing down some ammunition and the rifle onto the table. "Well?" Dutch said. Dutch was experienced with weapons, but this thing was beyond him.