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Robin and Ashley NPC sheets are over in the Sign Up thread.
The large tanker is rusted and well armed and a small crane has been affixed to a metal plate to lift up new passengers, as the first batch of people are aboard and raised a cheery blue and white Mr.Handy welcomes all aboard.
"Welcome aboard the Queen! I hope you enjoy a wonderful trip to the beautiful island of (the voice cuts in to simple electronic tone) Error Data Not Found. Please note that if you are in need of assistance simply ask any of the Stewards!(Protectron's) No fighting is allowed on board or all security measures will guarantee you are thrown over board!"
The upper metal deck contains old crates of metal and tarps covering them, there are a few scattered people around the ship, a small group of super mutants, a pair of night kin arguing e over what appears to be a teddy bear, some ghouls messing around with a dog, a few regular humans all bright and others solitary.
1 man with a nearby custom gutsy floating nearby has arrange a few metal boxes with the help of a small forklift robot. He seems to have made a vantage a few feet above deck and not to mention a decent position to fight from. By using a central large box and several smaller ones as steps and walls he looks quite comfy watching new comers aboard.
Diablo walked onto the ship's deck and shouted "OK! Who's calling the shot's here?! The NCR would like to talk to them!"
Unhappy about his assignment to this mission, he wanted to get this over with.
The nearby Handy floated over and gently nudged him to clear the boarding area.
"I'm Captain Conroy, and welcome to the cruise! If you truly are the NCR (cut away to electronic voice), please note your currency is invalid while on this boat."
The pair of night kin fight grows even fiercer as the teddy bear rips in two, a fight begins and within moments of laser dots on them and a brief flash of explosive light all that is left are ash and burnt bits of kin.
A nearby Handy pops out and begins to clean the mess via dumping overboard and the scorched spot steams slightly.
"Now ain't that somethin'," Jayne muttered, walking over to the railing, shotgun slung over his shoulder, as the ash fell off the boat. He made sure to maintain a comfortable distance from the Handy while he watched the ash settle into the water and disappear. Such is the fate of a Legion that knows no Caesar or Lanius.
Feeling a bit sick, Jayne quickly turned and walked away from the railing out of a strong desire to retain his lunch. He scanned the deck to see all manner of fortune seekers, but two in particular stood out on his first sweep: a giant of a man who wore a familiar red beret, and a ghoul dressed in a silly red outfit. Smiling at the irony of the thought, he walked over to speak to the ghoul with an odd white beard.
"Howdy, friend," he began, "Sergeant Major Corbin, retired."
"Why hello, old chap!" Replied the Ghoul, "Major General Maxwell Hinterling, one might call me the very model of a modern major general! Good to see another military man on board!" He chuckled and held out his hand for Jayne to shake.
"Between you and me," he whispered "It looks like some of the other chaps are a little...off."
"I hear that, sir," Jayne replied, shaking Max's hand. "If those two fried fellas represent most of our comrades, this'll be a mighty short trip. Beg yer pardon, but you look a bit well-dressed to be off explorin' the unknown. And how's a ghoul go about growin' a soup-cat... a beard like that?"
"Well, this is a pretty standard outfit, young man! I'm surprised you hven't seen one before, being military and all. Though I suppose you're an NCR fellow with that accent. Very odd clothes, they wear." He said, strocking his matty beard. "And as for the beard, well it wasn't easy, I can tell you! Took me the better part of a hundred years and all the hair-growth treatments I could scavenge but I couldn't feel a proper gentleman without one!"
Maxwell started humming Rule Brittania as he surveyed the scene. The Mister Hndy had just finished sweeping the Nightkin remains off the deck and was going back on patrol.
The other ghouls seemed to be sunbathing and the official looking NCR man in the red shirt was still standing there looking indignant.
"I say, old chap, that's a rather interesting shotgun you have there! Mind if I take a look?"
Diablo stared at what was left of the Nightkin.
"ohh their THOSE kind of hosts...Yay..."
He noted the others and decided to try and socialise.
"Evening, sign up for this trip too?, Eh" He put out his hand "Diablo...and you?"
"Not at all, sir," Jayne replied to Max, removing the shells from his weapon and pulling the pump back to reveal an empty chamber, as was protocol for handing a weapon over for inspection. Once Max had taken the shotgun, Jayne shook Diablo's hand.
"Jayne, pleasure to meetcha. Yer one of them sniper types, ain't ya? Fought at the Dam?"
On board the platform a sentry bot disembarks shoving anyone in the way not so gently, along with a trio of woman. (see description in updated list of NPC's).
Captain Conroy beeps and rushes over to group along with the Handy and a nearby Steward (protectron).
"Attention ladies, please store all over sized carry-on luggage in to the back, my Steward here will assist you."
The leader of the group nods to one of the trio and she walks off along with steward and sentry bot.
The other two walk over to the tip of the boat, the one following seems to look at everyone as if appraising a piece of livestock.
"Take a look at that," Jayne muttered just loud enough for Diablo and Max to hear him, "got us some rich folk lookin' like that tin can'll save the three of 'em. Ain't no room where we goin' for them pretty-but-useless types. Here's to hopin' looks are deceivin'."
Donny was leaning up against the wall of the boat near the bow. He watched the odd promenade of people going past him, and couldn't help but notice the ghoul and feel a twinge in the back of his mind. He reached instinctively into the holster behind his lapels, but stopped himself. "That knee-jerk crap got you into this mess, idiot," he muttered to himself. "Maybe I ought to try and socialize with him. See if he ain't just some rough-skin." He thought against it, and decided to just try and blend in instead. He continued to eye the ghoul, concocting fantasies involving his knife.
Boat Layout-The boats main front deck asides, there appears to be multiple entrances in the middle right of the boarding area, signs painted simple yellow give directions to the following...
"Storage Hold, Living Quarters, Engines, Mess Hall, etc." A few locations on the map as a super mutant mutters (yeah right) quietly to everyone nearby. Some are marked with red stop signs for obvious reasons.
A protectron steward shortly comes out of the hold carrying a dead feral ghoul and dumps it over the edge.
"Yep, At the dam, 1st Recon" Diablo pointed at his Beret, "quite messy, but most battles usually are, killed quite a few Legion Troops with my rifle here, some saw it coming, most didn't, Now I stuck here scouting this trip for Kimball, some things never change..."
Diablo saw the ghoul checking the shotgun and his unusal get up.
He laughed a bit , "Now YOU look like somebody with a story..."
"Yeah, I fought there both times, but I wasn't 'born' no sniper so I always been on the front, hence the 12 gauge there. Retired as Sergeant Major, if you're wonderin'. Ya know, I'd'a thought they'd send one of them Rangers on somethin' like this, no tellin' if this island's gonna be good for snipin'."
"ehh... they would have, if it wasn't a errr... misunderstanding in a bar in Boneyard, 1 military court later, here I am..." Diablo shrugged.
He then reached for his sidearm, a custom 5.56mm pistol: "by the way, shotguns are good, But I prefer a handgun that shoots rifle ammo." he said spinning the large gun Robo-cop style.
He then turned to Max and asked "How the hell does a ghoul grow a beard?"
Donny, gathering his self control, strolled up to the trio and butted into the conversation with the grace and tact of a bull in a china shop. "Yeah, exactly what did you do to get that back, rough-*ahem*, pal? We'd sure love to know."
Max finished inspecting the shotgun and handed it back to Jayne. "Well, like I was saying to this gentleman before, it took me all of one-hundred and fifty years and several tonnes of miracle hair-treatment, but I did it!" He said with look of pride on his face, "I am only one of two people I know of who have managed to grow a beard after ghoulification, and the other was no gentleman!"
"Huh...didn't think those products survived the War, Heh, might grow one myself" David chuckled as he stroked a pretend beard.
He then turned to Donny and said "Kinda overdressed for a gig like this, aren't 'cha?"
"You clearly don't understand style, my friend. This here offers the functionality of any light armor, and the panache that comes with pinstripes. It also let's me conceal certain things. I'm packing a .44 behind my left breast and a knife strapped to my back. If I didn't tell you, you'd have never known unless you prompted me to use 'em. Don't take me for a moron just because I like to dress well."
David was taken back a little: "whoa didn't mean anything by it, just we could be wading though a LOT of shit, hate to see a nice suit like that get ruined. So what kind of .44?"
Jayne nodded at Max as he retook possession of his shotgun. Checking the chamber, he pushed in a shell before sliding the pump forward. As David and Donny spoke, he flipped the shotgun over and reinserted each of the eight shells that went into the tubular magazine underneath.
I do hope these Profligates know how to fight without a firearm, should they run out of ammunition. Possibility of resupply seems fairly unlikely at this point, but we shall see, Jayne thought to himself.
Half way though their converstaion regarding guns and ammo, David said "Hold that thought, HEY! Is there a shop on this junk heap?" he then yelled.
"A magnum revolver. Simple, fast, and durable. As for dirt, I don't worry. I've never had a problem with bloodstains before, why should mud give me any trouble?" He leaned past David and followed by shouting "YO! When're we gonna hit shore, I'm achin' for some solid ground!"
A steward trundled over to the large group, "Departure is set to 12:00 pm on the morrow after two more loads of passengers have embarked, in the mean time feel free to follow the signs, or allow me to escort you to the Holding Deck where several local vendors and automated systems are ready to provide service to you.
Please note that there is also gambling and other games at the Holding Deck." The Protectron looked well and able as its light flickered with its voice.
After a few more crates and a handy Lifter shifted some larger ones from the platform and the boat, the last few passengers departs, noticeably a caravan group (lightly armed), several ghouls with the one leading them in a Hawaiian print shirt (light-medium armed), and what is clearly woman of negotiable virtue and a pimp/escort (armed to the teeth).
The man begins talking to Captain Conroy in as hushed a tone and far away from anyone in general.
A nearby Steward begins telling the man on top of the small crate fort to immediately disassemble the small structure. His somewhat strange Gutsy begins barking orders like a floating general and the Steward wanders off after raising what could almost pass for a salute.
The young man reappears after ducking down and comes out with a crude sign written in black letters. Clear to most anyone "Robin Repairs".
One of the trio splits off waving later to her companion and goes over to the shop and begins an animated conversation out of ear-shot. The one that left for the back of the ship returns to the front.
"Sounds like we got ourselves a place to git some more ammo," Jayne commented, opening up his small bag. Four full magazines for his 9mm sat inside, along with a few days' rations, a small roll of NCR bills, and small bags of Legion coins and caps. "I tell ya what, fellas, wanderin' around 'thout a family or home's easy on the wallet, 'specially when ya got a pension to go 'long with income from the occasional merc job. Hey, robots, if NCR cash ain't accepted on board, there any place to swap it out for what y'all do take nearby?"
"Your NCR money is not accepted on board with any of the ship vendors, but local merchants can assist you in this matter down in the Holding Deck, or any other merchants that have arrived recently."
The steward promptly replied as it waved its arms towards the entrance to the lower decks, and to the Caravan and "Robin Repair".
"Yeah...no family..." David half-heartly said, thoughts of his experances in the Boneyard came rushing back at Jayne's comment.
He zoned out for a moment.
"Well, that Robin kid looks to be closest," Jayne began, turning his head to David but eyes on the crate pile, "let's head over and swap fer some useful cash. Pard'n us." Weaving through the crowd, Jayne walked over to the crate fort and stopped, pulling out the wad of bills.
"Howdy, you mind swappin' this out fer whatever they're gonna use on this boat?" Cringing, Jayne slowly held up the roll of NCR$2000. "Damn, knowin' my luck they'll be usin' caps."
Robin was still talking animatedly to one of the Trio, get closer there conversation seemed to be about robotic parts and functions along with signals and different wave lengths among other things, unless you're someone well acquainted with this it blows right over your head.
The girl noticing the approaching Jayne gave a wave and met back up with her other two companions.
"Hellooo! I would like a pouch of 36. rounds! How many caps would that be!?"
David snapped out of his trance and followed Jayne and Max to the store asking the Storeclerk *Robin* "Got a long term supply of 5.56mm and .308?, I got enough on me now, but I will need some more later on"
"Agh, damn exchange rates," Jayne muttered, holding up the roll of bills. "Coulda at least got 800 for this out in Vegas. How 'bout 600?" Jayne noticed the woman returning to her friends out of the corner of his eye, and his head slowly turned to follow. "Yer lady-friend's pals lookin' fer an army-type?"
These Profligates may live in a diseased, corrupt society, but they certainly look better than those starving slaves.
You are too old, Caecilius. There is no point in looking at this age, especially among those who would see you dead if they knew.