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#12726984 Sep 21, 2016 at 04:11 PM · Edited over 1 year ago
341 Posts

Abel breathed out his relief as soon as the woman stepped back to her wards. Righteous anger was right. Her presence felt as though it would either inspire or choke the life out of you.

A brief blank look back at the talking dog was all he really spared the peanut gallery.

Shuffling through the snow, Abel gently grasped the back wheel and gave it a heave of a turn. As the armor unfurled and popped open, he stood with bated breath...and let it out when the corpse of the real owner revealed itself. Grasping at the armpits, the young man heaved the body out, leveling it out to the snow below before crossing the dead man's arms over his stomach. A brief look of sadness was followed by touching his forehead, then chest, before bringing his hands to his left side then right.

It was what his father had done to those Far Harbor had lost in the past. It was far less than this dead Paladin deserved, Abel guessed.

Ensuring to step around the body, Abel stared up into the metal chasis. With another breath, he stepped inside, staring out through the helmet of the T-60 as it enclosed itself around him.

His heart beat fast. In a good way, of course.

Then he moved his arm. It was slow, but fluid, like a slowly adapting second skin. He turned his head left and did the same with the corresponding arm, flexing his fingers idly. It felt...good. Really good. Slowly bringing his legs up one step at a time, he turned towards the ensemble cast on the side. Holding his arms out, he had to ask.

"How do I look?"

Without really waiting for a response, he slowly took a knee beside the body and dropped his voice to a whisper.

"I'll make good use of this, I promise."
#12750707 Sep 30, 2016 at 07:39 PM · Edited over 1 year ago
120 Posts
Roused from her sleep, Kavvy's hand shot to her sidearm. Most rest came in a form of pseudo-sleep, an awareness of her surroundings without actually paying attention to them. Hefting herself off her seat and completely disregarding the Paladin's instruction, she made her way off the bus, pulling the her scarf over her face to shield from the sudden shock of cold.


She came to the same conclusions everyone else had as she walked a few paces behind the Helping Hand, surveying the carnage. Her footfalls were lighter than the rest, stepping gingerly across the scene and keeping her eyes peeled. Whoever had done this were trained, that much she could see.

She watched the boy's exchange between the Helping Hand, shrugging at the idea of someone hopping into a metal deathtrap. Her eyes narrowed and she idly nudged one of the victims. She'd seen her fair share of battlefields, more often their aftermath than anything else. Steel toes clinked against the armor as she did so, before she hefted herself up from her squatting position, glancing around for something less-than-powered. Nothing was more reliable than gunpowder, your wits, and steel to throw, and you could never go too wrong with good ol' firepower.

She did try to step gingerly, though, seeing the people's fondness for respecting the dead. "Paying Homage" wasn't something she wanted to do if all she was swiping were a gun or two and some ammo she could retrofit for her own weapons.
#12770745 Oct 09, 2016 at 02:31 PM · Edited over 1 year ago
215 Posts
With a start, Atlanta's foot shot to the back of the seat in front of her. The sudden commotion had disrupted the five-minute nap that she had found herself in, and with a phlegm-filled grunt she shot up and followed the rest of the passengers out of the bus, her newfound Tommy Gun resting upside down on her shoulder, held by her right hand. Blud and Ben followed shortly behind.

Even walking out, time seemed to slow for Atlanta. Looking upon the carnage -- which, as everyone else had already come to the conclusion of, was clearly done by trained combatants -- her fists clenched, her muscles tensed, and her eyes were wide. Her rifle had found its way into her hand in a readied position, as if whoever had done this were going to come over the horizon at any second.

However, Atlanta would not feel the exact gravity of this situation. In the comfort of Nel's Row, she had grown accustomed to constant safety, all the time, with the exception of when she ventured into the Wastes. But, for all intents and purposes, the Wastes were her home now. She could not return without something to bring back, and until then, she would have to deal with the outside world and all the dangers it encompasses.

'Well', she thought, 'maybe that's grounds for some extra protection.'

The 'waster' stepped up next to Laurie and looked at him -- pleadingly, but with fire in her eyes. This felt right to her. She hoped he would agree.

The man understood. He nodded.

And so Atlanta stepped forward, mimicking Abel and turning the valve on the armor of what used to be a woman. The hatch opened, the corpse rolled out, and the huntress had no words; no words of respect or anything even resembling a eulogy, for she had never had to speak such things. Instead, she looked to the body with complete and utter sadness, and stepped into what was just the woman's grave.

It felt natural. The armor sealed Atlanta inside of it, but also away from the wasteland; it was as if a little pocket of the safety she had known her entire life had found its way to her. Her own slice of Nel's Row that she would bring to The Melting Pot.

Still, no words. Only an armored stare to her companions.

Time to go.
#12773689 Oct 10, 2016 at 06:41 PM · Edited over 1 year ago
125 Posts
Zodai tucked off all back o' the bus like, covered by his white canvas sheet tied around him like a caped poncho/duster, complete with a hood. Insulated with soft leaves and paper scrap he could find, leaving him cozy since there was nothing to really do, he gets 40 winks while clutching his crafted bow beside him tight in left hand. His right finds grip on his Colt 1911 given to him by his Lieutenant of the NCR. He sleeps until he feels the bus come to a halt, and then slowly and ever so slightly raises his head to see what the commotion is. When everyone begins to filter out of the bus, following after the Helping Hand, he holsters his gun and cinches his bow around his dominate shoulder. attention towards the front, his first instinct is to get out of the bus. But instead of following after the others, he slowly reaches out grabbing the nob to the back door, turning it until it clicks open. In one swift movement he deftly angles his body from the seat and out through the door, which closes behind him with a subtle click.

When he finally comes to understand what the commotion is all about, he veers away from the group. Despite what he had told the tinheads before, he cared not for their plight for the emotional suffering that accompanied it. But there was no denying that this kind of carnage was something that he hadn't seen the likes of since fighting the Legion, or in Pittsburgh. It was enough to give him pause, and watch from the sidelines as the boy had his confrontation with the Senior Paladin woman. But as soon as the impulsive youth had encapsulated himself inside the suit of power armor that he had decided to claim for himself, Zodai moved on, disappearing into a nearby snowbank without a sound. He might have retired from his life as a Ranger, but he would never be able to stop subjecting himself to old habits. While the others talk and scour the overpass for supplies, he begins to search for clues of his own in the area surrounding them. He hadn't seen what the pyromaniac had presented to Laurie, but he had his suspicions. He just wanted to confirm them for himself, on his own time, and his own terms.
#12773937 Oct 10, 2016 at 09:19 PM · Edited over 1 year ago
534 Posts

Your skills as a scout and former Ranger remain as impeccable as ever. Not a single member of your group - not even the likes of Blud - seems to realize that you've given them the slip. As you make your way to the opposite side of the freeway, it would occur to you that it'd be quite easy to tear down the guard rail that's keeping the west side of the road separated from the east. While there would still be vehicles in their way, switching to the opposite side of the road would allow them to bypass the one that was currently impeding their progress. Something to think about. You would make a note to tell them about it once you were done giving the area a thorough inspection.

With the snow underfoot barely making a sound, you skirt the edge of the scene until you come to a position where you can slip down to the cracked, weed-choked road below. You can hear the voices of the people above echoing throughout the tunnel as you make your way to one end and then back. You would venture further, but instinct tells you that the group currently parked on the embankment might notice you, and in their current state of agitation might mistake you for a hostile and thus bring you to a most unfortunate bad end. So you double back, and come to a stop here.

Looking behind you, you can see that the fires on the bridge shine like beacons in the waned light of the snow-choked day. To your three and nine is nothing but wilderness and abandoned buildings. Wait, no. What is that, off in the distance, up in the sky at your two? A flock of birds? You produce your binoculars and bring them up to your eyes. It takes you a few seconds to reorient yourself, but thanks to the not-so-distant whir of rotors that you only just now become aware of, you manage to lock on to what you'd seen in the distance. They're birds alright, but not the kind that you were hoping they'd be.

'Kingfishers. Son of a bitch.'

You promptly take a knee and exchange the binoculars for the map that you'd liberated from the truck stop the night prior. It doesn't take you very long at all to locate your position, and then from that extrapolate how far from you the Vertibirds are and where they were most likely headed. Oh, no. This isn't good. This isn't good at all. You're less than two miles away from the old Stewart National Airport -- the perfect place for an Enclave staging ground.

- - - - -

((Due to the precarious nature of this development, the GM will grant Zodai's player one additional post before things are turned over to Viktor.))
#12774002 Oct 10, 2016 at 10:08 PM · Edited 8 months ago
125 Posts
Zodai's blood runs cold upon recognizing the emblem on the Vertibirds. "Fuck," he mutters, putting back first his binoculars and then the map. With adrenaline kicking in, he makes his way back to the convoy with as much haste as possible while doing his best to remain hidden. The second that his companions come into view he would announce his presence, "I know who did this," he says, rushing up to Paladin Laurie. "It's the Enclave! He actually spits after he finishes saying the last word. "They're located here," he says, producing and pointing to the area of the map that indicated the location of the airport. "About two and a half clicks northeast of us... " He falls silent for a few moments as memories of the past, during his time fighting the Legion, briefly resurfaced. He shakes his head and then looks almost pleadingly at those gathered around. "If we keep traveling up the freeway they're sure to spot us. I recommend we take the convoy down to the 300 and detour through Gardnertown, or head even further down south and cut through Balmville. The farther away we are from that airport over there, the better. The alternative isn't something that I want to even begin thinking about."

- - - - -

((This post was subjected to GM edit without the player's consent, which is something that the GM apologizes for. While hardly an excuse, the edits were made while the GM was operating in a state of mind that often sees him saying and / or doing things without clearly thinking them through beforehand. In this particular case, he attempted to "clean up" the dialog and make sure that it better fit in with the posts that came before and after it. This issue has already been addressed in a conversation held privately over Steam. Zodai's player has agreed to the changes, albeit under protest. Henceforth, the GM will endeavor to make sure that this kind of thing doesn't happen again. Thank you.))
#12774243 Oct 11, 2016 at 01:57 AM · Edited over 1 year ago
119 Posts
Viktor cradled his rifle, even as he sat huddled in the corner of the bus a briefcase of ingredients at his feet as he dozed lightly, the narcotics having let him achieve something akin to sleep, at least as far as he was concerned. As the bus stopped he waited for everyone to leave before he rose, the man looking haggard, tired yet underneath there was an air about him, almost an edge. Pale blue hues scanned the carnage in front of him, taking slow, deliberate and almost gentle steps as he moved with a quiet confidence about him, even in his narcotic induced haze. Cradling his DKS-501 in his arms much like a child, his briefcase was slung over his shoulder as he took time to craft a careful analysis of the situation and the carnage in front of him.

Following Failen's trail, albeit it around the carnage rather than over it his dark cloak wrapped tightly around him as he made his way towards the gathering of his fellows, remaining silent as Failen held up the flamer, a hint of something akin to fear glimmering in his eyes before he quelled it and resumed his emotionless visage. His boots crunching softly on the snow he inclined his head as Failen spoke to show his respect for the fallen soldier. Remaining in the background, the sniper took a long moment to let his senses begin to attune to his environment even as the Morphine pumping through his veins dulled his senses. Waiting until Failen had finished his commentary before he heard Zodai speak.

Turning to face him he gave a terse nod before listening intently, recalling the few times he had been offered to do deals either for against the Enclave, all of which he turned down because dead men had no use for money. As he spoke, his voice sounded gruff, hoarse and almost pained from his elongated period of drug induced silence.

"The man has a point. The Enclave is something this group is neither fully prepared for nor something we would be wise to bring upon ourselves. These people are organized, well armed and notoriously temperamental. I side with going south and cutting through Gardnertown before resuming our journey."

He lifted his DKS-501 from his arms to his shoulders before dropping to his knees and began scanning the battlefield. Clouds, smoke, bodies... Black objects in the sky? Carefully adjusting his optics his eyes widened before he muttered something wholly unpleasant in Russian under his breath. Shouldering his rifle, he looked at Zodai as he spoke, but in English this time.

"What this man has told you all is is true. I have just seen it for myself. The Enclave have gunships, perhaps four kilometers from here, to the northwest. They appear to be scouting the perimeter of that airport over there. Even if we manage to engage the enemy and succeed in driving them away, their clean up parties would not far behind. And the Enclave is nothing if not terrifyingly thorough. I would highly recommend leaving this area, right now."
"All weapons are important to an Echani. A hand built weapon is part of the Echani. I built her by hand, crafting the hilt over weeks of trial and error. She is very much a part of me, like a child, or a spouse. With out the weapon, you cannot defend your life, if you cannot defend your life you have no life. So we treat our weapons with respect. We honor them, as they honor us by being our defenders, our tools, an extension of ourselves. A weapon is an extension of ones soul."
#12855559 Nov 14, 2016 at 08:20 PM · Edited over 1 year ago
534 Posts

"Hear ye, hear ye!"

((After speaking with Cirsei, Izzy and Ally, I have decided to [temporarily] suspend the posting order. All active participants are hereby allowed to post and have their characters react accordingly to the events presently unfolding around them. Have fun!))
#13230161 May 05, 2017 at 09:50 PM · Edited 11 months ago
534 Posts
#13385596 Aug 07, 2017 at 04:15 PM
140 Posts
Brent stroked his beard thoughtfully, observing the whole situation. Him and the other scouts glanced at each other, shrugging. "Whatever the case, it's trouble. I reckon we'll have to take 'em on, sooner or later. If we swing around, we'd have a chance of scavvin' some good stuff that could help, but I ain't sure on that." The scout fiddled slightly with one of his pockets. "We're gonna have to wait on the big boss's word, anyhow." He looked up at their behemoth of a vehicle.
Rex: Hero

Valeiro: Psycho

Kojasta: Mystery

Solljus: Villain

Abaddon: Shadow

Xirad: Warrior
#13708770 Mar 25, 2018 at 09:57 PM · Edited 5 days ago
534 Posts
((Hard to believe it's been eight months since this last saw an update, huh? Well thanks to Syn, I'm able to introduce an Essential NPC that'll allow us to pick this up where we left it! Yes, that's right my friends, Andy has made the transition into the world of Fallout!))


- - - - -

One of the women that had accompanied the Postman up from the street pushes her way to the front of her group to stand next to him. Her outfit is one of practicality; fur worn over your a-typical raider setup. She is the textbook definition of a "blonde bombshell," and the last person that you would expect to see out in the middle of uncivilized territory. Startling blue eyes briefly settle upon Brent before cutting quickly to the broader picture. When she opens her mouth, the voice of a Hollywood starlet spills out. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't intend to wait to get permission to proceed onward. I may have boarded that bus with the rest of these dregs here, but I never signed a contract. I am not bound by honor or duty to listen to this 'big boss' that this man here speaks of. The longer any of us wait, the longer we run the risk of being spotted by one of those metal vultures. I'm going to Gardnertown. Join me, or don't." She blows a stray strand of hair away from her eyes, then turns on her heel and begins trudging back down the slope to the street below.

A murmur runs through the group that she had been a part of. Then, almost as one, the majority of them turn to follow her. Those that remain behind look uncertain -- except for the Postman. The young African American boy coaxes his horse into wading into the ranks of the Helping Hand. He throws the edge of his hand up to his brow in a traditional salute, which is readily returned by those who decide to give him their attention. He introduces himself as Eli Krantz, a member of the Pony Express en route to Central City from Radiator Springs, Arizona. The specifics of the conversation are lost to the wind, but it's clear that his story manages to pierce through the severity of the situation just enough to warrant Paladin Laurie beckoning for the Corsairs to join them...
#13708959 Mar 26, 2018 at 01:04 AM · Edited 13 days ago
341 Posts
[[ Just a heads up that I'm switchin' Abel's name! I came up with a much better one! Silas Devereux! ]]


Silas' steps were anything but the quiet ones he usually had, thanks to the massive suit of armor that covered his form. But, somehow, it still portrayed his easiness, as he planted his hand firmly on his hip. The blonde woman's voice reached his ears loud and clear despite the damage the power armor had sustained, and he canted his head downward.

'She definitely has a point...and it would be putting the armor to good use...they are called the Helping Hand after all...'

He glanced up toward the horizon - the direction of the crash site...and started off that way. It was clear opposite from where everyone else was going, and it'd be a lonely trek...but it'd be worth it.

He had to find his dad. And he made it far along on his own before he caught up to the convoy.