The REALLY Wild Wasteland. (The Fallout RP!)

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The (original) Three Musketeers: Reunited

The awkward silence came to an end as Evan's stare turned into an emphatic gesture and two words were spoken.

"You're alive?!", Evan said, accidentally hitting the back of FalloutScott's suit and showing that the Power Armour had gone as stiff as a board, Scott fell over on his face rather heavily. The Powersuit Destabiliser had worked! How long it worked for was an unknown quantity. The group had to make the most of this window of opportunity. It was at that moment that FalloutScott chirped up, the suit wasn't moving but he could still be heard from inside it.

"Oi, lads? Could ya do me a wee favor and roll me to the nearest pub? I need ta' figure this one out, after what that bastard Frank did." Scott appeared to have no idea that his suit had been sabotaged. Thinking quickly, Evan nodded his head in the direction of two motorbikes parked up nearby.

"Lets get him onto one of those, everybody grab a limb and lift."

1...2...3...lift! *phew* Turns out FalloutScott was quite heavy and uncooperative in the process, mostly because his Power Armour was stiff as a board and hard to move. They loaded him onto the back of Evan's bike and quickly noticed a problem.

"Hang on a minute, we don't got enough spaces for everyone ta ride." Said Dudley, secretly glad that Scott wasn't on the back of his bike.

"Yes we do Dudley," Said William, "Two riders, two passengers, and whoever's riding with Evan hangs onto that guy as we go." He continued, indicating the rigid form of FalloutScott, balanced somewhat precariously on the back.

"That's true, and look after him if he starts moving again." Said Evan.

"I call not me!" Shouted William, who'd had enough of the Enclave over the last week that he didn't want to spend the short ride to the Citadel making sure one of them was as close as possible.

"I call not m- shit..." Said Ferdinand, wishing he had his horse with him. That would have solved this problem, but the Brotherhood had led his horse away to a room while they tried to figure out what straw was and get some.

So the four Musketeers set off for another journey, with Evan quietly telling Ferdinand that he was now D'Artagnan, since the original Aramis had returned. He also handed him the PD, with instructions to jab FalloutScott again if he started moving or got wise to their destination, Scott was facing down on the bike, so wouldn't have much opportunity to spot landmarks. He'd probably figure it out by the direction though, and the last thing Evan wanted was a mobile and angry member of the Fallout Sector on the loose. Dudley had taken Scott's Super Sledge for safekeeping, they'd decided to keep Scott and his weapon apart at all times and Evan had wanted to present it to the Brotherhood as a trophy. He quite liked the idea of the Brotherhood collecting a trinket from each defeated member of the Fallout Sector, maybe they could make a museum out of it.

As the group rode away, there was one question gnawing away at the back of Evan's mind, one that Scott could answer under Brotherhood interrogation: What had happened to Frank Rose?

"No, I mean." Trixie pinched the top of her nose in frustration.
"Nevermind... What are you doing over there?"
Before he could answer Trixie was already looking over at the sensor module he was holding.
"How did you get that in here?"

"Well they frisked me once, but considering it'd probably take them several hours to remove this stuff I guess they figured it wasn't worth their time. I mean what would an underground evil lair have against chewed up wiring, or a half-dead fission battery, or in this case one of these beauties," he checked the module for a moment before laying it on the ground with the radio.

Next he began setting things out, singing under his breath, before eventually explaining.

"Now, our young friend, Robin, she ain't with us. By the looks of things the girl is right there with that crazy bald fella, Professor Evil or Dr Insano or whatever he called himself. I know he was busy prattling on about space moons and lasers and all that fruity comic book trash, but I'm a little concerned for our friend's well-being." Chester began to wire the parts back together, adding the module to the mix, along with one or two other little pieces from his pocked he pulled out.

"If you recall, young Robin had one of them fancy pants Pipboys. Never worked with one, nor even used one, but I still know a thing or two. A classic inclusion is always a radio, you'd be a fool not to have one included in something that useful. If it does, that means the thing will be picking up all kinds of signals, not like this beat up thing," he prodded the main board of his own radio, which now resembled a hideous Frankenstein project; all wires and extras tangled everywhere.

"However... Robin was always talkin to the thing, and it talked back, like it was understandin her words. Y'know what that means? A microphone has gotta be on there. I never saw her hitting no button, she just spoke straight into it, which means that mic is always switched on. I got a hunch, if I were to boost the power of this baby we can tap in to the signal her Pipboy is letting off and we can hear whatever the mic on her wrist is picking up. No one ever remembers radio tapping these days, and I doubt our young friend will have bothered to add such precautions."

He found a roll of duct tape, and within a few moments the radio casing was back on, with several feet of tape keeping it held together. It was certainty a slapdash job, what was once a portable wireless now had a sensor module sticking out one side, extra capacitors and cables hanging down. Chester gave one of the dials a tweak, fuzzy static coming out.

"And even if this don't work I can hopefully listen to the Daring Dashwood show instead."

Arizona & Charlie

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths

It wasn't long after Arizona reached them and gave the blue-haired girl her thanks that she saw the strangest sight in recent memory, topping even the green-and-red Christmas-themed Mirelurks. The girl had stared at Thomas before pulling up her shirt and turning her back to him. But that wasn't nearly as bad as the sight of all the scars marring her back, causing even the jaded Ghoul to flinch back with a hissed, "Jesus..."

The young man standing next to her clenched his fists at the sight, he seemed to be struggling to contain himself.

"Father, I understand that I broke your first tenet: Never be seen and your second tenet: Never get caught. I await my punishment."

Whoa, punishment? After a moment, she shook her head and remembered something the kid said earlier, when he was slapping her to her senses. He called her Sylph. One of Thomas' old companions was named Sylph, and she remembered that he had told her that she was his brothers slave. If he was telling the truth, that would explain the scars, but why...

"Um. Well, I'd love to stay but Arizona and I are in a hurry. It was nice seeing you again. Bye."

At that, she shook her head and crossed her arms with a wry smirk on her face.

"Oh no, Tommy-boy. If you think you're getting out of this without an explanation of some kind, you've got another thing coming. I'm not giving up this kind of entertainment for anything, but first," she started before turning to the kid, "Who are you, and who exactly is this?" she asked, jabbing a thumb at who she suspected was the Sylph Thomas had mentioned before.

Before Thomas could answer her questions, his head snapped back as a leather clad fist connected with his jaw. This was followed up by a boot to the stomach and a knee to the face, sending blood spurting from his nose and his body crashing down on his back.

"YOU WOULD TRY AND WALK AWAY FROM YOUR DAUGHTER? AFTER ALL YOU THE PAIN AND SUFFERING YOU'VE CAUSED HER?" Charlie roared, giving him another kick to the side. Unfortunately it did little to appease his anger, he still trembled with fury over the groaning man. Reaching down he grabbed Thomas around the neck and pulled his fist back.

"I saw the scars, I heard the stories. I know what you did to Sylph and all about Sylphee." he said with a hiss.

When the boy started to beat Thomas to more of a pulp than even the girl did, Arizona promptly rushed forward with blood in her eye. As he pulled his fist back to punch him again, she came up from behind him and quickly put him in a headlock and lashed out with a boot to his calf to get him down. Despite her age, she was still strong enough to grapple with most. Though, she had no idea just how much of a fight this one would put up.

"Hey! HEY! Give the man a chance to explain first! And excuse me if I don't take kindly to some brat I don't know beating up someone I do, who happens to be my current partner! Now listen up." she growled in his ear, even as she tightened her grip for emphasis, "You're going to introduce yourself, and your girlfriend. Then, Thomas is going to explain what's going on. If you don't like that, then tough."

After a few moments, she slowly released him, but she made sure to push him away from Thomas and put herself between them. Glaring at the boy, she turned to Thomas and pulled him up by one arm before giving the boy a sardonic salute.

"To start introductions, I'm Arizona, freelancing Ghoul. This is Thomas McGee, an Undertaker. And you two youngin's are?" she asked, jerking up her chin as if to dare them to not answer.

Rubbing his sore knuckles, Charlie glared at the woman who'd pulled him away. "Charlie." he said flatly. "Nice to meet you."

The Wild Wastelands | Megaton
Idiocy of Megatonian Proportions!

For the sake of the structural integrity of her cranium as well as the sake of continuity, it was probably best that Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411 did not bear witness to the launching of the HBS (Her Blam-Jesty's Ship) Sharp Cheddar. For one the idea of sitting back to back, holding hands and confessing one's issues to the Bishop of BlamCo was as appealing as sticking a rabid molerat whose claws had not been trimmed for two years up her no-no hole. For another, the idea of two idiots walking down the road of inevitable procreation was appalling. Romance should have been about the passing of words between two inebriated dance partners, not the awkward nose bleed gawking of the typical male head case when the one dimensional tom-boyish girl takes off her glasses and reveals herself to be attractive!

That did not mean that the Enclave Intelligence Specialist's skull was safe from self bludgeoning against the concrete walls of her cell. She did still have to contend against Wadsworth and his Megatonian cronies. It was a wonder that the woman known out of uniform as Charlotte had not conceived of so devious a method of torture. Nothing was more painful than being surrounded by a posse of idiots.

"Shoot man, I tell you what, why ain't she shot her yet?" A Wadsworth lackey asked pointed his shotgun in Charlotte's general direction. This was the third of fourth time that the dummy had assaulted #411's sense's with that particular query. The answer was always the same.

"If the prisoner is telling the truth, it would not be in the best interest of the townsfolk of Megaton to defend against yet another Enclave assault." Both Wadsworth and #411 responded in unison. The main difference between how #411 responded and how Wadsworth responded wasn't just that the Enclave Intelligence Operative's voice carried a severely mocking tone with it, it was that the Robo-Bastard followed the response with another crack against #411's head with the flat of his chainsaw.

Clearly the Robo-tard had not considered the fact that returning an Intelligence Specialist with a case of severe brain trauma was as good as returning a corpse.

"If you follow that line of logic, Wadsworth, you clearly can't keep me here until I die from malnutrition, a botched escape attempt or suicide due to your friends' atrocious grammar. If I die, they'll not only send an extraction squad, they'll send an sweeper team and leave nothing standing. In fact they'll be a crater inside this crater. The best thing to do would let me walk back to Springvale like I've been requesting." #411 said.

BAM! Chainsaw, meet #411's head. #411's head, meet chainsaw.

"Request denied!" The Robo-Asshat barked.

This was going to be a long day for Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411. She hoped that the Marquise of Macaroni and her former Enclave associate had gotten Lucy to the doctor's in time. She didn't need the Isaac's daughter pulling anything out of a malformed sense of revenge.

Speaking of daughters. #411 looked at her chronometer to check the time. Constance should have already been over half way to Springvale from her previous location, her pace slowed by the fact that her radar ears needed repairs. But if Constance had assistance, she would probably be there now, looking for her mother. But... she did have assistance. She had that horde of Blue Haired Airheads that would follow her commands. Which meant that she was probably on her way to Megaton... with a horde of Blue Haired Airheads in tow.

The train of thought was interrupted by a Wadsworth Lackey opening his fat gob once again.

"Shoot man, I tell you what, why ain't she shot her yet?" A Wadsworth lackey asked pointed his shotgun in Charlotte's general direction. It was this time that Charlotte noticed that the shotgun's safety was in the off position.

As if plagiarizing her thoughts, the shotgun went off, sending buckshot bouncing all around the concrete cell.


The Wild Wastelands | Doctor's Evil's Vault of Evil
Shrinkage?!

~Fap fap fap fap fap fap fap fap fap~

No, no, no! Stop right there! That sound is not what you think it is, you dirty monkeys! That was the sound of Enclave Heavy Weapons Specialist #209's bare feet fapping against the cold metal floors of Doctor Evil's Vault of Evil. Doctor Evil and the Enclave must have shared the same interior designer because like the Enclave Vault, Doctor Evil's Vault went for the clinical look which meant plenty of cold shiny metal. This also meant that the Vault itself was rather cold and with cold environments came shrinkage! At least that was the excuse that #209 told himself as he ran down the cold clinical hallway with his twig and berries in hand.

As he moved towards an intersection in the hallway, the Enclave Dominator peered around the corner and saw a couple of guards walking towards the intersection, their rather tiny weapons dangling off their shoulders, swaying proudly to and fro as their owners strode down the hall like they owned the place. This was good, it meant that the guard that had been in charge of guarding #209 hadn't warned anyone yet. He probably wouldn't for a while since the Heavy Weapons Specialist had administered his patented three star choke hold on the guy.

There was still the fact that there were two of those guys and only one of him and no matter how tiny their pistolettes, they could still shoot #209 in the face and chest.

Another little known fact about the Enclave Vault and Doctor Evil's vault, the fact that they had gone for the sparse open floor plan clinical look, there were very little areas to hide... except.

"Aha!" #209 exclaimed as he grabbed a box and put it over himself, smiling at how clever he was.

The sound of footsteps got louder and louder as they got closer and closer before stopping in front of where #209 was hidden.

"Ahem." One of the guards cleared his throat before stating, "You know we can see you."

Clearly Doctor Evil's guards were more clever than #209 had thought since they had seen right through #209's disguise.

"Erm... no you can't." #209 said from his fortress of cardboard.

"Um, yes we can. That box is only covering your head." The guard stated, chuckling as he got a good look at the man with his head in a box. Removing the box from his head, the guards seemed a bit confused when they got a look at #209's face.

"I thought we were supposed to bring a men's prisoner uniform." One of the guards said to the other.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Well are you sure it was for this ... one?" The guard said still sounding confused, unsure which gender pronoun to use, "I mean look at ... um... the prisoner's..."

WHAM!!!

The guard never got to finish his sentence as #209 clocked the two guards' heads together.

"Assholes. It's called SHRINKAGE!!!" #209 yelled at the unconscious guards before grabbing the tiny, minuscule weapons.


The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths
The Terribly Strange Tale of Thomas and Sylph

When it rains, it pours. It seems that the old adage never involved anything nice. It never rained Bottle Caps on Thomas McGee nor did it rain booze nor did it rain happiness. Today seemed to be all about raining high caliber sniper rounds and fists and strangeness onto the Friendly Former Neighborhood Undertaker. The most recent was the flurry of angry fists thrown towards the usually gregarious and friendly man thrown by an angrier young man. Had his senses and reflexes been dulled by weeks of self pity washed down with whatever liquor killed his brain cells the quickest, he might have been able to fend off the attack. Instead, he used his face to block the incoming fists until the less than timely, but still wondrous, intervention by Arizona.

Laying on the ground, the Snappily Dressed Shifty looked up at the sky, wondering what in Walt's name would happen next.

"To start introductions, I'm Arizona, freelancing Ghoul. This is Thomas McGee, an Undertaker. And you two youngin's are?"

"Charlie." he said flatly. "Nice to meet you."

"And that's obviously Sylph." Thomas said as he imagined a flock of vultures circling over his head... attempting to will it into reality. Seeing as how the many blows to his head hadn't imbued him with the power to alter reality, the Bloodied Burier of Bodies sat up slowly to ensure that he didn't pass out and hit his head against the ground.

Both Charlie and Arizona looked at him for answers, well more Arizona was the one who was looking for answers while Charlie looked like he wanted to go for round 2 of the Wasteland Light Weight Championship.

"If you want me to explain, we might as well set up camp... again." Thomas muttered as he started unpacking his gear, telling his story as he worked.

"I have a bit of a correction to make on my partner's behalf," The man in the funerary outfit started off, "I was an Undertaker, formerly of the Undertaker's Union from out West as was my now deceased brother, Henry McGee. It's because of Sylph and what she is that my brother is dead and he was the one who previous held the title of her Father, not me."

Finding the work of setting up camp a tad too strenuous for his bruised cranium, Thomas opted to sit for a spell and spin his tale, but not before unpacking a bottle of Rivet City's Finest ShroomShine.

"Sylph was Henry's prized project, a subject that had the personality to disarm even the most paranoid and cautious of people," Thomas stated before pointed behind the listening duo towards the scene that unfolded behind them. Sylph was walking through the rubble of the building that she's demolished, looking for survivors to do Walt knew what with, "and a subject that was bloodthirsty enough to kill whomever, where ever and however her 'Father' chose."

"When my superiors learned about his little project, they had me take a detour from my route from the NCR to DC with the orders to take care of my brother. I did but I didn't take care of her." The Pale Giant of a Former Undertaker stated as he took a long pull from the bottle, "She should be trying to kill me but now she's got this notion that I'm her Father for Walt knows why."

Still watching Sylph, Thomas lowered his voice as she approached and opened the Plush Deathclaw Backpack, taking out its contents to ensure that she had enough space for the supplies that she had collected from the dead.

"She nearly got me the first time, so I'm wondering why she's not trying to finish the job." Thomas stated as he noted a familiar key that Sylph had pulled out of her pack, one that he had given to Lucy before he was taken away by the Enclave.

Kristin Blamco - Megaton
"Oh dear"

Holding her breath in anticipation, waiting for Jonathan to answer her request, the BlamCo Princess was anything but prepared for Jonathan's wordless reply. At first he stared, a look that was finally not born from contempt, but something different. Something she couldn't quite put her finger on. When she caught sight of Jonathan's flushed cheeks, she wondered what could elicit such a reaction. Surely he had not had anything to drink, they had yet to even start drinking!

Running a hand through her hair, Kristin looked at the scene before her and froze in place as the realisation hit.

Wine glasses: Check.
Wine: Check.
Snacks: Check.
Under the cover of darkness: Check.
Stripped of armor for comfort: Check.

"Thi- thi - this isn't - !", stammered the Blushing Blamco Heiress, waving her arms back and forth whilst frantically shaking her head.

This was most certainly not a romantic date!

"Shatter this in as many tiny pieces as you can", Jonathan presented her with a gift, not just a mere trinket, but the man had dismantled an atomic bomb just for her to demonstrate her combat prowess once more.

Was the way to her heart truly with a swing of a blade?
Did he enjoy watching her fight?

"I am doing this because I want to!", Kristin bolted upright, uprooting her bumper sword and cleaving the electronic component into several unidentifiable pieces with far too much enthusiasm.

Be still my beating heart! Take this as a compliment! It's only natural that - Oh my BlamCo.
This explains everything.
Absolutely everything.

He was in love with the Princess of BlamCo.

"If you wish to... talk, then I will indulge you. But first, we both need a change of clothes."

This was going too fast!

"I-I mean, we were both exposed to radiation. O-our c-current clothes need to be washed for the... heavy metals to be removed... before we can safely wear them again."

He was shy as well! This only serves as further confirmation!

After all, much like the boys on the playground, they were mean to the girls that they liked. And Jonathan was nothing but mean to her all day!!

"We should find a place to stay for the evening, do you - erm - have any suggestions on where to find a change of clothes or - umm -- where we can get ours cleaned?"

Yes yes! Play it cool, let him take the lead, after all he has probably planning this for the entire day. It would be rude to interrupt.

"Radiation, huh?", Kristin remarked stiffly, painfully making idle conversation, "Does that explain why I have never worn the same dress twice after an experimental recipe?"

No no no, you cannot bring up your family's wealth during a time like this! In the short time that Kristin had known Jonathan, she had never known someone to cry, shout, complain about near-death experiences and sleep so much. He was an emotional lamb of a man and like his mushy heart, he needed to be handled with care.

"I would rather not my current battle armor be destroyed." Kristin declared, trying desperately to appear normal. "But where shall we get clothes during this time? Do you wish to go nude!?"

Oh dear.

Kristin had very few issues with her bodily appearance, such was the blessing of a BlamCo diet, an active colon and regular exercise. After all, one of the Gods was Nipples itself and as a female she was bestowed with real breasts and opposed to Jonathan's fake nipples.

So if she were to bare her breasts in the name of BlamCo, it would most certainly not be the first time. How joyous it was to create a nude calendar with her battle sisters two years ago. The mere strategic placement of melted cheese on their bodies and sales had skyrocketed for that year.

While reminiscing about hot melted cheese being poured between the smooth -- "Moriarty's Saloon!", Kristin exclaimed while scanning the buildings for any sign that indicated a place to rest for the evening. "Lets go there! Surely they will have rooms for..."

Kristin hastily opened her bag and counted her remaining amount of caps: 125.

"...umm, how about we make that a single room instead?", the BlamCo Princess smiled weakly.

Nevertheless, a burning passion to avoid further radiation exposure, talking things out and getting a good night's sleep for the first time in two days had arisen.

She was doing this for BlamCo. Forgive me Jonathan, you sweet and innocent lamb, but please do not get the wrong idea.

With her back turned to Jonathan, the BlamCo Princess summoned her courage, she had a mission: Secure a room and find a temporary change of clothes.

In Kristin fashion, she pulled at her collar to slip her shoulder out from under the skintight leather armor. With a shoulder free and a flick of her golden hair over her shoulder to stop it from getting caught, she pulled the top-half down to her waist. With her back exposed and her milky skin looking angelically pale under the artificial light from the street lamps, Kristin proceeded to bend over and wriggle out of the bottom half of her armor, giving Jonathan a vastly clearer-than-intended view of her polkadotted underwear being swayed back and forth while she struggled with the ankles. After having finally conquered the act of undressing to her gold polkadotted black underwear, the Prideful Princess stubbornly gathered her things and hastily stuffed everything into her courier bag. Her armor would have to be carried.

Turning around with her hands firmly planted on her bare hips, Kristin fiercely pointed at Jonathan's face, "Well, what are we waiting for? Lead the way!"

A girl and her dog! (Sorry this took so long)

The young lass keeled as she gave Rufio his goal... nay his quest. A quest to aid a damsel in distress. Rufio knew what had to be done.
"My fair lass... I shall take you to this place known as Springvale!" Rufio declared loudly. This of course came out was various barks instead of what he wanted to say. "Blast this dog tongue!" Rufio cursed. "Maybe when we reach this place I can inquire about some kind of vocal device.
"That's a good, Rufio." Constance laughed. She grabbed hold of Rufio's neck hair and clenched. "You do know the way right?"
"Woof" Rufio answered with a sharp bark. Rufio had no idea... he had no idea how to even get out of this building. But he had to help his new friend. Rufio put his ground to nose and started sniffing. Maybe he could pick up the scent of the outside and begin the girl and his's journey. Too bad every smell around him was of death. He had landed in a battlefield. Going on instinct alone Rufio started trotting in a direction that the terrifying laughter and cries of death where not coming from. Together with his companion, the strange duo walked through the destroyed building looking for the exit.

Arizona

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite

As Thomas sat up, battered and bloody from his second beating of the day, he motioned at the girl and confirmed that it was definitely the Sylph he had mentioned earlier. As he pushed himself up, Arizona pulled off the bandana from around her bicep and offered it for his face with a small, bland smile.

"If you want me to explain, we might as well set up camp... again."

At that, Arizona heaved a sigh and dropped her duffel unceremoniously across from where Thomas started to unpack his own things. As he started to explain just what was going on, he pulled out a bottle of what had to be some kind of hooch. Or at least, that what she figured, given the fact that he seemed to be a full-blown alcoholic, and he presumably got it from the Rivet City tavern. The way it looked though made her grimace.

As a rule, she wasn't particularly picky about what she ate or drank considering that she was both a Ghoul, and happened to live in the radioactive wasteland that was left of the United States. She couldn't afford to be picky. But whatever was in the bottle Thomas had pulled out was enough to be an exception to that rule. He could have the whole thing if he was set on drinking that swill.

Thomas went on to clarify that he wasn't an Undertaker any longer, and though his brother, Henry was an Undertaker at some point, being dead tended to turn a person into an ex-everything. His brother had taken in Sylph as a pet project, essentially a personal assassin to kill whoever he wanted, in any place and fashion he wanted. But, it turned out that the Undertaker's Union didn't take kindly to that, and sent the man's own brother to kill him. But he didn't kill Sylph, so he somehow took his brother's place as he "Father".

The whole explanation made her sit back and regard him with a weary expression.

"Well, I remember you mentioning her being your brother's slave, but I wasn't expecting... That." she murmured after a moment.

"Here's what I want to know: First, why you? Why did the Union send you, the man's brother, to kill him? Was it a lack of trust? Because shit like that tends to break trust sooner than it fosters it from what I've seen." she started, counting the first question on one finger before starting on another, "Second, why is this Sylph girl convinced that you're her 'Father' now? Were you and Henry twins or something, or was there a really close resemblance?"

When Sylph started to empty out a plush Deathclaw backpack, Arizona huffed out a short chuckle.

"I suppose I won't argue if she wants to follow around, since she did save my skin back there. But you," she said, gesturing to the boy with a jerk of her chin, "Are another story entirely. I'm guessing you're probably going to follow your girlfriend if she tags along? Because I can't afford to have you beat Thomas into a pulp again. He's in bad enough shape as it is, and I need him to get me to the Dunwich Building at the very least."

She paused, considering for a second before shrugging as she added, "Besides, I'm starting to like him."

"Great, now we can listen to her tell them how to improve their doomsday weapon!" Trixie sighed at Chester.
"Listening to Dashwood would probably give us a better chance of escape..." She said in a sarcastic tone, resting her chin on her fist.
"Not seriously though." She quickly corrected herself, unsure if the happy-go-lucky ghoul even knew what sarcasm was.
I cannot stand that blabble...

"Hold on!" She stated, pointing her finger into the air.
"Those other parts you've scattered there, maybe it can be fashioned into something!"
Trixie began to rummage through the odds and ends Chester had left on the floor.
"You can do whatever you please with that radio-maggigy, just let me know if someone's coming, we can't let them know we have anything in here." She whispered at him.

She began to mumble to herself, putting all odds and ends in various different positions, practically ignoring Chesters expressions.
"Duct tape on the screw... Old fission battery for torque support... Tangle the wire here... No, no, that won't work, ugh... Where's a hairpin when you need one..."

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite
We're taking who along?!

Thomas McGee's ghoulish partner in crime, Arizona, was in rare form today. Despite the fact that she'd saved his ass from a number of potentially dismembering situations, he might have gotten on her bad side with his latest escapades of involving her in his own personal weirdness. Why else would she invite the Blue Haired Butcher and her Punch Drunk Partner along to Dunwich. Let's forget the fact that Sylph was a bonefide psychopath with dual personalities, neither of which was particularly appealing, there was still the fact that Charlie looked like the type of person that would literally shit in Thomas' breakfast.

Opening his mouth to object to the proposed inclusion of the Punch-o-matic Partners, the Less Friendly than he Normally Was Former Undertaker thought the better of opening his trap lest the Devilish Duo perform some other form of Martial Arts machinations on the Soon to be Less that Sober, Somberly Dressed Slug of a man. Taking a tug from the bottle of ShroomShine, Thomas instantly regretted his desire to get drunk.

~PFFFFFFFFFFFT!!!!~

~WHOOOOOOOOSH!!!!~

It was probably a good thing that there was no one other than Thomas close to the camp fire since ShroomShine happened to be highly flammable as well as perishable. One day out in the Wastes had rendered the formerly exquisite flavor of the locally grown mushrooms and fungi, fermented in the purest waters from the Potomac river into something that must have tasted like Brahmin urine. Thomas was half way towards staking the Powder Keg Pugilist with an accusatory stare when he thought the better of it. The last thing Thomas wanted was another incident that would further devolve the situation into one that could possible harm Arizona.

"Why did the Union send me after him?" Thomas echoed, remembering the questions that had been posed towards him by the Machine Gunning Ghoul, "Simple. It's a test of loyalties. If you can murder your own kin, you certainly have proven loyal enough to the group that you can be trusted with other tasks."

Never mind the fact that Thomas's Great Great Great Great grandfather was the founder. Never mind the fact that what Henry did to Sylph was a stain on the familial honor. Never mind the fact that had Thomas not been assigned the task, he more than likely would have taken it up anyways.

"And as for why she's taken to calling me Father, I'm... not... really that sure." Meaning he had some idea but he didn't like what the idea meant, "Henry and I were as far away from twins as you and Charlie could be considered twins. I believe any brotherly resemblance to Henry that I had was removed when I shot him in the face."

Glancing over at Sylph, he could see that she had been listening to his story, her expression remained unchanged every time she looked at him. Respectful, fearful adoration? Was that even a possible expression? If it was, that was the expression that Sylph had plastered on her face every time she looked at Thomas. It was... unnerving.

However, the expression on Sylph's face wasn't the primary reason that he'd looked over at Sylph. It had been to get another glimpse of the key that she had taken out of her pack. It was. It was around her neck, attached by a chain that Sylph had acquired from the corpse of one of the FishFace and Friends.

"Where'd you get that?!" The suddenly Frenzied Funerary Founder queried when he realized who the key belonged.

Sylph looked stunned as her "Father" addressed her for the first time since setting up camp... stunned and a bit on the afraid side. She cringed visible as Thomas "Shifty" McGee closed in on her and hoisted her up by her arms to get a better view of the key around her neck. It was her's... not Sylph's but her's.

Frozen by the sudden violence by her "Father" Red Menace didn't answer. She didn't even move.

"Where is she? What'd you do to her?" He asked loudly, his voice dripping with anger as he tossed her to the ground and walked over to put a foot on her neck. "TELL ME WHERE LUCY IS!!"
\


The Wild Wastelands | A Girl and Her Dog | Enroute to Springvale
B-I-N-G-O!

Violence was the Way of the Wastelands. If one were to leave one scene of violence in the growing cloud of dust of where one had been, one would inevitably find another scene of violence closing in on you. This was the case of the Adventurous Blind CatGirl and Doggy Escort and Friend (ABCDEF). As they left the Battle of SuperDuper Mart, both Constance and Rufio could smell the lingering smell of blood and battle that had been smothering the town of SpringVale since the arrival of Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411 and her escorts. The only comfort that either could take was the fact there were no sounds, giving evidence that whatever violence had taken place here was long gone.

~BWOOOP.... BWOOOP~

The beacon locator that Constance had pulled out of her pack "bwooped" as they closed in on where #411 was supposed to have been located.

"Miss Natsuki? Is everything okay out here?" Constance asked the only person with working eyes and the ability to converse.

Everything was definitely not okay out there. Between the charred remnants of a Vertibird and the freshly buried Enclave Heavy Weapons Specialists, it appeared that nothing was okay. What was least okay was the fact that located within the home of Lucy Black was a crushed Enclave Power Armor Helmet.

"Miss Natsuki? Rufio?" The Barely Legal Blind CatGirl pressed for information.

The Helmet had the number "411" engraved on it and it was lying in a large pool of blood (compliments of Lucy Black). Nothing appeared to be okay.

"Mom? Are you here? MOOOOM?!"

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite

The Undertaker's story was hard to believe, but Charlie had to admit it was plausible. It didn't contradict anything that Sylph had told him last night and it even filled in some details she'd left out. Despite this Charlie remained standing while Thomas and Arizona sat down, keeping one eye on the drinking man and another on Sylph as she wandered around looting the dead bodies. He didn't even look to the Ghoul as she addressed him.

"...I'm guessing you're probably going to follow your girlfriend if she tags along? Because I can't afford to have you beat Thomas into a pulp again. He's in bad enough shape as it is, and I need him to get me to the Dunwich Building at the very least."

"Firstly, stop calling her my girlfriend. Secondly, I'm not leaving Sylph alone with you two. If she wants to follow you I'm coming too." he replied. "I don't know you and there are plenty of folks out here who would take advantage of a girl like her if given the chance."

~PFFFFFFFFFFFT!!!!~

~WHOOOOOOOOSH!!!!~

The sudden explosion caused Charlie to jump back, narrowly avoiding the cloud of fire. He glared at Thomas as the man continued talking, seemingly nonplussed. That was until Sylph returned to the group and he launched at her, pinning her to the ground.

"Where is she? What'd you do to her? TELL ME WHERE LUCY IS!!"

"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

Something snapped in Charlie at that moment. Charging forward he crashed into Thomas, the two men sprawling to the ground in a flurry of limbs. With the element of surprise on his side Charlie managed to pin the man down, his forearm held against his throat.

"Don't even move ghoul!" Charlie snarled, using his other hand to point his laser pistol at Arizona. With his face inches away from Thomas' Charlie glared into the other man's eyes.

"Now listen here you piece of trash. If you ever touch Sylph again or do something like that. I will force feed you a grenade and explode you into a million tiny pieces. This is your last warning. IS. THAT. CLEAR?"

He'd kind of been angling for her to tell him her name so that the conversation wouldn't be awkward, but oh well. Dr. Evil smiled as Robin tried to patronize him with her doubting words. The proof was in the pudding, which was what something on this Earth was about to become... Hmmm, perhaps that should be written down somewhere. That was pretty good...

Dr. Evil: Very well, I will show, and tell. It will be...facinating. Activate the "Laser"!

Frau: Activating LASER!!!

Everyone in the room jumped at the sound of her voice. Yikes...

Dr. Evil: Number Two, would you do the honors of picking a target? Surprise me.

Number Two: Very well, sir.

The man with the eyepatch went over to the control area of the room and selected a target. Dr. Evil was explaining.

Dr. Evil: You see, Miss Whoever-You-Are, I am in fact the original genius who pioneered the "Laser" back before the war started, when it was still new. And while Number Two made our company a fortune selling the smaller versions on Planet Earth, the resources gained were able to produce a weapon with such a highly-focused beam that actually does more damage by travelling through the atmosphere on the way to its target. It was a serendipidous discovery, but that is science for you. Get me the President of NCR!

Technician: Hold on, sir. The eyebot is making its way to his office now...

Well, this was awkward. He had to wait. The not-good-at-all doctor began to pace, then stopped abruptly and turned back to Robin.

Dr. Evil: Oh, that reminds me! You're probably worried about precise aiming. We had that taken care of over three hundred fricking years ago. Number Two!

Number Two: Yes, Dr. Evil?

Dr. Evil: Are the satellites in position?

Number Two: Activated and ready, sir.

Dr. Evil: Good.

Just then, a hologram of the NCR Presidential Boardroom with a number of other officials came up. No doubt, the eyebot was showing him to them.

President: What is this? Who are you?

Dr. Evil: Mr. President, Cabinet of the New California Republic, Random Janitor... Hello, I am Dr. Evil. BWA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAAA!!!

They all just sort of stared at him. Not the reaction he was hoping for.

Dr. Evil: Very well, to business. Mr. President, I am solely-responsible for plunging the world into depths of paranoia and fear that it nearly destroyed itself three hundred years ago. I did that, and then had myself cryogenically frozen so that I could later enjoy the fruits of my labor. The old United States paid for their insolence towards me. Dare you, the new version, do the same?

President: I don't believe for one moment that some bald idiot could just up and start the Great War.

Dr. Evil: That is where you're wrong! Using my giant space "Laser", I struck over a dozen countries with impunity. Consider their reaction to THIS! FIRE THE "LASER"!

Frau: Firing LASER!!!

Dr. Evil: Gentlemen! The "Laser" has been fired and relayed via reflecting satellites to a position above a point in your territory which was pre-selected when we decided to call you! Pay us One Hundred Billion Caps, or the fate of- What were we shooting at?

Number Two: Sunset Sarsaparilla Headquarters.

Dr. Evil: -Sunset Sarsaparilla Headquarters shall befall- Really?

Number Two: I hate that stuff.

Dr. Evil: I see. Okay. ...where was I?

Number Two: Ultimatum.

Dr. Evil: Ah! Yes... One Hundred Billion Caps or New Vegas is next, and then NCR bases, and so on! Deliver...or die. Ta-ta!

The feed was cut. Yes, this man is Evil. Evil...and has one of the few operational super weapons in the world.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Meanwhile, in the cell with the baking soda...

Keep trying, Chester. Keep trying.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Meanwhile, #209's antics - loud as he was being - were heard...

Guards saw him and opened fire with the damn laser tommyguns! CHASE SCENE!!

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Hey, you forget the Greatly Heralded Idol that was Constance's superior officer, Natsuki! Nevermind. The three of them moved along, the Diclonius smiling at the dog. However, the smile disappeared as they came to the area...with a destroyed Vertibird. Natsuki began to seatch the area while Constance moved straight towards the beacon for #411. She let her be and investigated around, propelling herself faster with use of her vectors. She saw the corpses and then went into the Black Residence...

"Mom? Are you here? MOOOOM?!"

The helmet and the blood was the first thing she saw, and Constance was right at the door now.

Natsuki: Constance...

The Diclonius' tone suggested something was wrong, big time.

Natsuki: There's blood in here, and a ruined helmet. It's hers. It doesn't look good...

Inwardly, Natsuki was in a rage. She knew virtually all the mainstay members of the Enclave, friends and family to them all, basically. She hated losing them, but she REALLY hated to lose the ones she knew the best. Charlotte Sorrowfield was one-such person. Another...was that one guy, George, that had been killed by William Knight. She had raged over that. George was a good man, family man, good helper and a great soldier. She would not forgive William Knight, and now she would not forgive Lucy Black... And that...was when she saw a note with some tools.

Natsuki: There's a note here. Looks like it's from her.

She read it alloud for the girl. Least she could do...

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite
As the Wasteland Turns...

This was the second time that Thomas found himself on his back thanks to Sylph's Self Appointed Savior, the inanely named Charlie Cannon, who appeared to have something loose in his noodle, and it wasn't a cannon. The threat of force feeding the Bruised and Battered Burial Bondsman a live grenade was as absurd as the Punch Drunk Pugilist's name. For one thing...

"You realize that if you force feed me a grenade, you'll be as likely to kill yourself as you would me." The Former Assassin stated with a small sort of smile, the kind that said, "I've got nothing to lose, do you?"

If that wasn't enough to inform the young, but energetic youth that Thomas was not the man to be playing hero with, a pale fist struck Charlie's solar plexus, it wasn't the hardest of hits but it would have been enough to cause the youth some pain, enough to lift young Charlie up a couple inches, far enough for the Former Assassin to reach up, wrap his hand around the back of Charlie's head and bring the kid's nose down to meet Thomas' forehead.

CRACK!

Thomas' other arm shot out to grab Charlie's hand, squeezing the fleshy part located between Charlie's index finger and thumb and guiding the pained pistol wielding hand toward's Charlie's head. There were times when youthful enthusiasm trumped experience and there were times when experience trumped youthful enthusiasm. The two skirmishes between Thomas and Charlie had demonstrated both these principles.

"STOP IT CHARLIE CANNON!" A familiar feminine voice yelled from behind Charlie as Sylph finally took stock of the situation. Looking back Charlie could see Sylph, her expression nearly having the same coldness that she always wore... nearly.

If the fact that Sylph was taking Thomas' side was disheartening to the fist tossing man child, the comforting voice that followed seemed to come from the unlikeliest of sources.

"Listen, kid. She won't take your side. If I'm her 'Father' she's programmed to protect me. But she doesn't want you dead either. So lay off the violence. I get the feeling that we're in for a long night." The Undertaker laying under Charlie said.

They were in for a long night. Thomas had run out of alcohol and detoxing in the wilds was going to be hell.


The Wild Wastelands | SpringVale | 324 West Black Road (Black Residence)
Who? What? When? Why? WHAAAA?!!?

Constance was in the dark about what was happening, quite literally since she was blind to everything around her. Between the smell of blood and the information that her mother's helmet had been found smashed into teeny tiny bits, the Radar Eared American Enclave Scout of America was rather disturbed that she was alone in the world now, minus her idol Natsuki Manriki.

As Constance stood in the threshold of the home, the most wonderfullest voice she could ever hear and die happily after hearing started reading a note that had been left by Charlotte Sorrowfeld.

The Letter:
My Dearest Constance,

It has come to my attention that you've recently come into contact with the Self Replicating Clone colony that recently took root around the ruins of Vault 108 and that the blue haired clones have chosen you as their leader. Let me be the first to congratulate you on this achievement. I do not need to remind you assuming the role of leader should not be taken lightly. It is your responsibility to ensure that they are well maintained and have their basic requirements met.

Upon hearing this news, I have generated a new assignment for you. You are to turn this colony of clone civilians into a standing army. For that, you will need to train these girls and turn them into soldiers. Additionally, you will need to outfit your army with weapons that suit them. It is for that reason that I have located two assets to assist you in this task. Given the Enclave's less than stellar reputation with the Wastelanders, you shall be working deep cover. This means your uniform and any Enclave identification will need to be hidden away. I've left a set of civilian clothing with these tools to repair your ears.

Do not fail in this endeavor,

Charlotte

As wonderful as it would have felt to be hearing words of praise from her mother, it would have been better if Constance was aware of what happened to her mother. Was there a body? What condition was it in? Who was responsible for killing her mother? What in the hell happened? What demon rose from the pits of hell to take the young girl's mother away from her?

These were all questions that Constance needed answers to. But the first thing that needed to happen was repairs.

"Ummmm... Miss Natsuki? Do you think you could fix my ears?" Constance asked, her voice quivering with excitement at her hero potentially touching her. Though the way things were going, it would probably be Rufio that would be doing the repairs.

Arizona

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Fight Club

Thomas's explanation wasn't exactly satisfactory, but at least it was mostly straightforward answers, and for the moment it would have to do. She'd have to just take him at his word unless something proved him wrong later on down the line.

~PFFFFFFFFFFFT!!!!~

~WHOOOOOOOOSH!!!!~

She flinched when Thomas managed to make a sudden fireball thanks to opening his bottle of Rivet City swill, regarding him with a narrow stare once she regained her composure. He just seemed to regard Sylph with an odd stare of his own. The old Ghoul simply shrugged it off until she heard him speak up.

"Where'd you get that?!"

She looked up in time to see him grab her by the shoulders before tossing her to the ground.

"Where is she? What'd you do to her? TELL ME WHERE LUCY IS!!"

"OH FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

"Hey!" she called out in vain.

In a flash, Thomas and the kid were on the ground in another scuffle, ending with the boy putting one arm on the ex-Undertaker's throat, and the other hand gripping a laser pistol aimed at her face. As he did so, she cursed the fact that she was getting slow. She shouldn't have even let it get to that.

"Don't even move ghoul! Now listen here you piece of trash. If you ever touch Sylph again or do something like that. I will force feed you a grenade and explode you into a million tiny pieces. This is your last warning. IS. THAT. CLEAR?"

Her eye narrowed into a murderous glare, but she held up her hands and sat back, content to watch for now. But she was all too aware of Lester's weight on her lap, just waiting for the right moment if things got too ugly. Thomas certainly didn't help things by taunting the boy before starting the whole scrap over again. She took their fight as a good distraction to stand and get out of the path of any misfired lasers.

"STOP IT CHARLIE CANNON!"

That one outburst from Sylph seemed to be enough to stop the two of them for the moment, and while Thomas explained to the boy that the fight was essentially pointless in regards to Sylph, the old Ghoul took that opportunity to wrap one arm around Charlies neck before doing the same to Thomas and hauling them both up onto their feet.

"Alright, now you two listen to me. Right now, I don't give a shit what your beef is, because it's going to stop." she said, emphasizing this point by tightening the headlock she had on each of them before turning to the boy.

"Now look, I get it: Pretty girl gets grabbed and tossed around, a kid like you has to try and help. Real admirable, and some girls find that sexy. But I don't take kindly when my partner gets assaulted like that, since I need him to get me to where I need to go! So if you're going to come along, you're gonna keep your dick in your pants and your hands off my partner, got it?!" she growled, before looking over at Thomas.

"As for you, lay off the girl. As far as I've seen, she hasn't done jack shit that warrants being manhandled like that. So, unless I see anything that says otherwise, she's fine by me and can tag along if she wants, so long as she doesn't cause too much trouble with her little friend. If you have a problem, say it calmly, and I'll listen, but I make no promises." Arizona told him, before releasing them both.

"As far as I'm concerned, you're both morons. But since I need Thomas as my guide, he's here to stay. Girlie, if you want to come, fine, but I'm not babysitting you. Same goes for you, kid. Now unless something changes along the way, I have a job to do, and I'll damn well do it! So that means that I'm in charge. Oh, and before I forget," she murmured, before she leaned over and roughly cuffed the back of Charlie's head, "That's for threatening me with that laser pistol. Do it again, and I won't be so nice. Now..."

She hefted her Machine Gun before motioning to both Charlie and Thomas.

"Hug." she muttered menacingly.

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Camp
Sylphee Sylph Sylphee!

When it came to Sylph's world, everything appeared to be in the midst of change, some of it not particularly for the better. Despite the fact that she'd been reunited with her "Father," it appeared that he wasn't too particularly pleased to see her. It also appeared that he was in a hurry to leave her behind once again.

While it was admirable that Charlie Cannon was standing up for the Red Menace, were it not for her "Father's" counter attack on the young man, Sylph would have been forced to intervene. While there was a large part of her that would not have cared, there was still a lingering position within the back of her mind that objected to killing someone that was defending her against her "Father." While it was a small ember of what could only be described as a feeling of friendship, the portion of her mind that was staunchly loyal to her "Father" had the ability to snuff it out at a moment's notice.

The Blue Haired Butcher had not moved since being tossed aside by her "Father," her fingers wrapped tightly around the key that hung around her neck, observing as her "Father's" ghoulish companion threatened to fill both males with enough lead to sink Rivet City to the bottom of the river.

"It's a tad hypocritical of you to threaten me after saying that you needed me to take you to Dunwich, isn't it?" Sylph's Father stated as he rubbed a sore portion of his neck, an angry forearm shaped bruise starting to show, "Plus, what she hasn't done yet, she'll inevitably do in the future."

The last statement was in reference to Sylph, causing her to flinch.

"The last time I saw her, she was MY guide to finding Henry. And boy did she help me find him, right after she knocked me unconscious," Her "Father" stated accusingly. Which was strange since Sylph did remember an incident similar to what her "Father" described, only it was someone else that she'd knocked unconscious.

Feeling uncomfortable in the face of such accusations, Sylph slowly removed her choker from her pocket, slipping it around her neck with a barely audible: ~click~


"What's more, she's got something that I gave to Lucy." Thomas said loudly, "The key around her neck. I gave it to Lucy. It goes to a foot locker located in the Citadel and has all of the Caps that I've earned since arriving in the Wastelands. I was supposed to help her start a peaceful life but if that little.."

~CRASH!!!!~

The Friendly Former Neighborhood Undertaker never got to finish his sentence as he was tackled to the ground by a Crimson Blur.

"DADDY! DADDY! DADDY! YOU'RE ALIVE!!! WHERE'VE YOU BEEN?! I MISSED YOU? WHERE'D YOU GO? DID YOU GET THAT MEAN MAN THAT TRIED TO KILL YOU?" Sylphee screamed right in Daddy Tommy McSqueeeeeee's ear hole.


The Wild Wastelands | Doctor Evil's Vault of Evil
Pew! Pew! Pew!

This whole scene, Enclave Heavy Weapons Specialist #209 being chased by guards, seemed wrong. It wasn't too long ago that the Enclave Dominator found himself in this very same situation, though it was he that was doing the chasing not the one being chased. It was a cruel twist of irony that he found himself in the Blue Haired Bitch's position, out armored, out gunned and out manned. Though armed with only a couple of tiny laser pistols, the Enclave Dominator made with what he had and fired back at the guards.

~Pew! Pew! Pew!~

"What? No 'splosions?! What in the hell kind of weapons are these?!" #209 ranted as he was tempted to toss the non-explosion generating laser pistols against the wall.

~CLOMP! CLOMP! CLOMP!~

The sound of boots coming from direction he was heading meant that he was being surrounded on both sides and he'd soon find himself a rather crispy critter when they caught him. As shameful as it was, #209 needed to quickly hide himself before he was spotted.

Lifting the idea from the Red Menace, #209 noticed the cover to a vent and started attempting to hide himself within its tight metal confines.

"Uhhh... errrrrr... oooomph!" The Enclave Heavy Weapons Specialist grunted as he shoved himself through the metallic sphincter.

It was a little tight for someone as gifted as #209 was in the realm of musculature. The man found himself having to pull himself through the ventilation system, the sound of his skin squeaking against the metal echoed all around him.

~FAP FAP... SQUUUUUEEEEEAK!!... FAP FAP... SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEAK!~

The sound of #209 worming his way through the vents might have been considered annoying had it not suddenly stopped as he found himself stuck, his face looking down upon a couple of familiar faces.

"ERRRR! UUUUUUGH!!! OOOOOMPH!!!" He continued grunting as he tried to get Trixie and Chester's attention.

Megaton Bomb: A Comedy of Miscommunication

There was a certain tension in the air as Jonathan degreed that they needed to change their clothes. From what few quick side-glances he threw at her, Kristin's disposition had seemingly changed for the umpth time today.

What was wrong with her? First she was mad, then hateful, then she acted as though she never said that she hated him and now... now this. How could one explain the way she was acting now? The way she quickly jumped up and obliterated the detonator piece was... weird to witness, to say the least. She certainly was an implulse-driven person, doing things on the whim rather than thinking them through, but this time there was an air of... nervousness?

"We should find a place to stay for the evening, do you - erm - have any suggestions on where to find a change of clothes or - umm -- where we can get ours cleaned?"

The tension in her voice was evident. It was... unsettling. To think that Kristin, someone with an air of confidence that, if manifested, could possibly cause one of the most devastating cyclones in history, could be so conflicted was mind-boggling. Had he said something he shouldn't have again? Was it the way he started the conversation? Damnit all, he knew he should have told her that he was willing to talk before he threw the damn thi-

Wait, what did she mean by "find a change of clothes"? Could... could that mean...

SHE DOESN'T HAVE OTHER CLOTHES!?!?!

Oh man, things sure were getting complicated. She didn't have a change of clothes! How in the hells can someone not travel with spares? What if they get... torn!? Would she... would she have to travel na-

Noooooooooo! STOP! Don't go there! Don't finish that thought!

Not baring to look at her after the mental image of her taking off her torn (at certain very... revealing places) armour, Jonathan turned his back on Kristin and tried to get his mind to think of other things. Like, where he could get her new ones around here. Could Moira-

"Radiation, huh? Does that explain why I have never worn the same dress twice after an experimental recipe?"

She talked again, anxious, her chatter giving off the sense that it was forced. What could- Shit, he hadn't replied to her question! Did he give off the idea that he was brushing her off again? Damn, damn, damn! Pay attention to what you're doing, old fool!

"Umm, uh..." he started weakly, not sure what exactly he was about to say and still weary to gaze at her lest he look like an idiot, before the Princess talked again.

"I would rather not my current battle armor be destroyed, but where shall we get clothes during this time?"

Right. Good question. Jonathan raised his right hand and massaged his forehead. He needed to answer to make it clear that he wasn't ignoring her, but the answer would also need to be thought out; a Herculean task, considering he'd been struggling to keep his thoughts in che-

"Do you wish to go nude!?"

His thoughts shattered to a million pieces as his hand reflexively crashed on his nose like a falling rock does on a baby's head, causing a nosebleed and excruciating pain, his head to tilt backwards from the unrelenting force and his legs to momentarily lose balance. Jonathan had heard of ancient Chinese Kung-Fu techniques that allowed the user to throw three-inch punches that could go through wood. Lucky for him, this was more akin to a three-inch slap, so rather than punch his brains out he merely caused some internal bleeding as worst case.

Gggggaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh

Shocked, and looking like he had just started recovering from a stroke, Jonathan raised his head and applied pressure on his nose in an attempt to stop the nosebleed. Nude? Naked?! The full monty?!? Au Naturel?!?! Wh-why would she even consider something like that? Wa-was she a nudist? To be fair, with such robust assets and such a well-maintained sha-

STOP THINKING ABOUT HER BODY!

"Moriarty's Saloon!"

Moriarty's Saloon? The least reputable place in Megaton? The place where most indecent things happen in Megaton? What about it?

"Lets go there!"

No, that would be a bad idea, thought Jonathan as he raised his left hand to examine it. At this point, he needed any distraction he could get.

"Surely they will have rooms for..."

It was still pretty painful to move the fingers and clunching it was a no-no. Even touching it with his other hand produced some pain. Maybe he should have Doc- wait, have rooms for what? W-why didn't she finish that sentence?

His heart was beating in a higher frequency than Terahertz radiation.

Oh Gods...

Could she... C-could she want to...

"...umm, how about we make that a single room instead?"

His already shattered thoughts fragmented into billions of infinitesmall pieces as Jonathan's bandaged hand impulsively crashed on his nose much like how a truck crashes full-speed into a group of 12-year-old schoolgirls, causing him to almost fall backwards if not for a few last second balancing steps. His nosebleed had gotten even worse than before, and pain vibrated through his entire face.

Gggggguuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu-

His hand, already in pain, now felt like someone thought it would be fun if they hit it a few times with a sledgehammer.

-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

Jonathan whimpered as he alternated between applying pressure to his wrist and his nose. Ah, if only he had a another hand! Maybe if he let radiation get to him, he would grow another one. Or die. Both seemed like great alternatives to this right now.

She wanted a single room? W-why? W-why was she being so direct all of a sudden? Was she like an animal, having periods of fervid heat during which she wanted to... Wait, what did the girl bring her? Jonathan turned around to take a look.

He was already wishing he didn't.

Before him, Kristin Blamco was undressing herself, showing off her shapely back, suggestively moving her hips, teasing with but a sideboob of her ample cleavage, her golden hair gently undulated by a fair breeze whilst the light made her almost-bare body radiate in the splendour of its perfection.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" the polkadotted princess proclaimed as she turned, her airbags showing off their amazing ability to defy physics, "Lead the way!"

So, that's how heart attacks feel like.

HHHHHHHHHNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGG

Ok, it wasn't an actual heart attack, but poor Jonathan felt as though his chest was being crashed by large, rubust bre- ONE TON WEIGHTS!

Must... stop... STARRING!

Blushing harder than a schoolgirl being noticed by the half-naked older student she had a crush on, Jonathan managed to get himself to run towards his belongings faster than a half-starved cheetah chasing after delicious bacon, grabbing his duster, running back to her just as fast -sliding towards the end-, before reaching his hand out in an exaggerated motion to her to take it.

"P-put this on!" he exclaimed, nervously, as he starred at the ground. "Y-you, y-you..." he took a deep breath to collect himself, "Y-you might... catch a cold."

Not looking at her helped, he found out. He was starting to calm down after her... uh... show of force. It was a difficult task to not think of her after that, but he had to do it. Partly because he was feeling guilty for staring at her chest, but he also had to keep his feelings in check. He had to...

"As for a change of clothes," he started, his voice much more collected and with a hint of sadness, still not looking at her but reluctant to leave her hanging for too long, "I might be able to get you some, I know of a place. So... if you'd like, I can go get the clothes while you go to the saloon to get the..."

Uh... what was the word again?

"Get the..."

How irritating! To have the word escape you just as you were about to say it!

"The place!" he said as he turned to look at her, irritated at his inability to recall one of the most common words of the English dictionary, "With the bed! Where people do stuff!"

His face turned from one of irritation to one of absolute, unbridled shock.

SHIT!

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy! He dun goofed now!

"Um... uh..." he stuttered, desperately trying to conjure up a sentence, "I-I wasn't talking about s-sleeping, I was talking about se- AH!"

He probably wanted to say that the other way around.

"CLOTHES!" he shouted, a nervous, twitching smile on his face while he pointed to the sky, desperately trying to change the subject, "YES! You need clothes! I'll get you clothes while you go get a room for the two of us, okay?!"

A moment of silence passed as he slowly realised what he just implied.

"Eeeh... uuuuhhhh... aaaaaah!" he mumbled, his face becoming gradually more terrified as the realisation sunk in, "I'LL BE RIGHT BACK!" he finally shouted, before turning on his heel and running away.

Kristin Blamco - Megaton
You Will (Not) Have Sex With Me

Kristin, bewildered and clad in polkadotted underwear, comically gripped Jonathan's coat while he had bolted before she could get another word in. Cautiously sniffing the long coat, the heiress immediately grimaced at the stench. BlamCo knows when this article of clothing was cleaned. That said, she was slightly puzzled as to why she had to put on his clothes, yet discard her own for the moment. What on earth was Jonathan thinking!?

Peering up at Moriarty's Saloon, the heiress was greeted with a gesture from afar, one that belonged to a silver-haired individual leaning over the rails in front of the bar. Whoever this person was, he was watching her.

Distinctly aware that she was advised not to wear her armor until cleaning, the BlamCo heiress gathered her things, folded the coat under one arm and rested her Bumper Sword across her shoulder. Making her way up the spiderweb of walkways, the underwear-clad heroine was greeted with whistles of adoration from various sources. Walking with her head held high, the Princess proudly welcomed the attention, clearly these were the praises of BlamCo sung through the hearts of the people.

"Dressed like that, I suppose you're here for an interview darling."

The Blamco Princess turned to the silver-haired man leaning over the railing, flicking his cigarette over the edge, he brought a hand to his chin as his eyes on her body.

"And who might you be?", Kristin asked with a slight edge to her voice.

"Colin Moriarty, I own this fine establishment and you - ", he pointed, "- you made quite a splash today! Carrying in the wounded bird, preaching to the preacher, baking cakes and stipping down to your skivvies for all the world to see."

Kristin single-handedly planted her sword into the ground, putting a barrier between the two. "You were watching?", the edge in her tone was now accompanied with a wary glare.

"Now now, don't get all defensive - ", Moriarty patted the handgun holster on his hip, " - I'm setting up a compliment here, you just saved the sanity of this town. More importantly, you alleviated my headache. So what brings you here dressed like that? And please tell me it's for an interview."

Recognising an admirer of her work, Kristin rested the blade on her shoulder once more, a motion that elicited a whistle from Moriarty. Apparently the feat of someone lifting a blade of that size was praiseworthy.

"Sorry to disappoint Mister Moriarty, I am a travelling messenger, I am not looking for work.", Kristin grimaced at the prospect of working behind a bar. All alcohol, no food, so unimaginative. "I request a room for the night, preferably with two beds. I'll have a friend joining me as well."

Moriarty looked visibly disappointed when she declined his offer. "Rooms aren't cheap, and if you're going to be screaming about your 'Gods' tonight, then it's going to be extra. 200 caps, one double bed, pay if you break it. Or -", a sly expression returned to his face. " - I'll be your friend for tonight. Free of charge."

"Absolutely not.", Kristin flatly declared.

The sour expression had returned. "I'm not budging on the price, but maybe you can pay with some information. Lucy Black - 'wounded bird' - what happened to her and why the hell is there Enclave at our gates?"

"Well - ", Kristin sighed and leaned against the railing, moving closer to Moriarty so she could keep her voice down. "Miss Black returned to Springvale..."

Kristin told Moriarty just about everything with a few embellishments here and there. Who she was, the arrival of Bob, the attack and how Lucy lost an eye to #411. Kristin conveniently left out Jonathan's actual name and the extent of his involvement. She figured that she could at least safeguard his identity, something which Miss Black had critically wounded herself to protect.

" - You took out two of them. Two. With that - that blade?", Moriarty remarked with thinly-veiled admiration and caution.

"Those that hide their faces, do so in shame. Shame that they cannot partake in the feasting of dairy. It is one method to identify a heathen or worse - a lactose-intolerant. The ignorant that shun BlamCo due a fictitious ailment. Ha! As if the body would ever reject the dairy which our Gods so lovingly provide.", Kristin paused in anticipation for more questions, she received none. "Why do you ask?"

"It's my business to know everything that's going on in my town. Simms is just a figurehead, without me though, this place would crumble. Anyway, you earned your room for the night, darling.", Moriarty removed a key that was dangling from a chain at his hip, "Second floor, first bedroom."

And like that, Kristin BlamCo had secured a room for the evening. Her deeds for the day and her underwear-clad appearance had worked in her favour. Best of all, she still retained the 125 caps that she had remaining. Strange, she had left her home with 125 000 caps. Surely the Caravan's wouldn't lie about their fees, knowing that she was the BlamCo Heiress? Regardless, if she ever were to return to New Vegas, her younger sister was still in possession of the 2.6 million portion of her remaining inheritance.

Making her way into the musty bedroom, Kristin plopped down on the mattress, her muscles were aching from two days of relentless activity with minimal rest. She couldn't quite enjoy the brief respite, since she was soon to face the biggest opposition of the day: Breaking Jonathan's heart.

The East Coast was a strange place!

Jonathan was clearly in love with her. He relentlessly played hot & cold with her, he turned as red as a tomato when she removed her clothes for cleaning as advised. Then again, he had dismantled an atomic bomb for her, admired her appearance, sought to finding her new clothing, offered his own coat keep her warm...

He was chivalrous, she would give him that. But Kristin BlamCo would not be won over by trinkets and half-hearted hints of love!

Now she was sitting in her underwear under the pretense that her clothing was irradiated. Did he plan this?! Did he yearn to keep her like this? And now he is on his way, thinking that he shall receive the performance of the evening. Is that what he thought of her?

Oh dear, that explains why he was jumpy about being naked during the cleansing ritual.

Kristin sorted through the contents of her bag, laying out the dinner preparations for the evening. Perhaps she could distract him with food and wine. In the meantime, the Heiress stretched out on the bed, content to get a little rest before she had to share the bed with a most-likely disgruntled Jonathan.

Funny thing about habits, certain actions were autonomous without any conscious thought. So Kristin might come to regret unclipping her bra after laying down for the first time in two days.

Poor Jonathan, such an emotional lamb of a man.

Craterside Supply

Sweating like a bull and largely out of breath, Jonathan reached the door to Craterside Supply, and was relieved to see they were still open. Taking a moment to catch his breath and wipe the sweat off his face, Jonathan took a deep breath and entered the establisment.

"Sorry! We're closing!" Moira exclaimed as he entered, her voice energetic yet apologetic at the same time, "Oh, Bob! Everything alright? Your face is all red- Have you been running?"

"Yes, Moira, I've been running in hope I'd catch you before you closed the place. Sorry to ask you this now, but do you have any female clothes for sale? It's kind of an emergency."

"Female clothes? Sorry, you're out of luck on that one. Used to have Vault Jumpsuits on sale, but those are long gone. Would you prefer some armor instead?"

"Considering that I also am waiting on those Pip-Boy spare parts," Jonathan said, disappointed, "I, uh, don't think I can afford that much."

Damn, he thought to himself, his face having turned sour. Without clothing, Kristin would have to content with Jonathan's duster, and Jonathan would have to content with Kristin wearing nothing but his duster. He wasn't certain which one felt were in the worse position. Probably him. No, definately him.

"Although..." hummed Moira thinkingly, "If you're really so desperate... I do have some... uh... you could call them clothes, I suppose..."

Jonatha's face jolted upwards, lit up by this hopeful cry.

"But, well, they aren't really-"

"I'll take them. Thank you." interrupted Jonathan. At this point, even damaged clothing were better than no clothes at all. After tonight, they'd wash the clothes, so the Princess would be able to go back to wearing her blinding silver armour.

"But you haven't even-"

"Trust me, anything will do. Put them on my tab when I come pay for the parts tomorrow."

"If you say so..." finished Moira hesitantly, before heading to the back of the story to fetch the clothes, leavinh Jonathan to think.

What about? Jon wasn't sure either. He wasn't sure how to react to the way the princess acted, or what to expect out of her, or what she expected from him. Her behaviour had been chaotic and random, completely incomprehensible to a man of rationality like him. In this whorl of disconnected thoughts and anxieties, right in the center of the storm, lay one question:

Could she actually like him? That way?

Jonathan wasn't sure if that would be a good thing. Letting out an irritated sigh, he started looking around as a way to occupy himself. It was then he noticed a large, body-sized mirror put on display at the right corner of the shop, probably for people interested in decorating their home. Fuelled as he was by long-burried insecurities now arisen again, he couldn't resist taking a look at himself.

Jonathan had stopped paying attention to his looks a long time ago. And it showed, becayse boy, did he look like shit. His stubble, long left unshaved, had grown into a dirty unkempt mess of an almost-beard, and his hair, noticably starting balding on the sides and giving him a widows peak, was oily enough that you'd have enough oil to pass a month if extracted. He was thin, but not the attractive kind. More like the malnourished kind. And his skin had started hanging due to old age...

So, what the hell did she see in him? If she ever saw anything in him. Kristin Blamco, with a body like hers, could have any man with applicable sexual orientation she wanted. There surely were more attractive men out there. So why him? If. Never forget that you're talking hypothetically. But even if she saw anything in him, in what way? What could that... display of hers mean? Was it an attempt to entice him? If so, did that mean she only wanted him for the sex?

That last thought tightened the pressure he was feeling on his chest. And also made him feel... disappointed in a way. But mostly made him anxious. Sex. How long had it been since last time? Shit, he couldn't even remember that much. And even back then, one couldn't say that he was exactly good at it, either. Mediocre at best. His wife certainly didn't marry him for that. Or love. Or any basic human compassion.

But yeah... Sex. How experienced was Kristin, anyway? Was she the kind of princess that would wait for her prince to appear, galloping on his steed, to take her to the land of Happily-Ever-After? Considering her actions at the bomb, that one could be ruled out. Promiscuous, then? Shit, that thought made the pressure feel like it was crashing his chest. With her looks, she must have gotten some really... pleasurable partners. No way he could compete with that. And she expected him to?

Shit shit shit shit

The anxiety was getting to him, his breathing becoming more frantic.. Disgruntled, he turned away from the mirror, desperately looking around the store for something to occupy his mind.

It was then that he noticed it.

Oh? Could it be?

"Right, here they- Oh, you're the first person to pay attention to that!" Moira said as she returned from the back holding a paper bag, noticing Jonathan examining it from up close, much like one would expect from an engineer exanining a crack on a bridge of a major metropolitan area.

On a shelf next to the counter, in a glass full of water, lay a flower.

"Where did you... is this an actual, genuine rose?"

"Sure is! It came with the guy that gave me the... clothes you want. Strange fellow. Starving aswell. Gave me the clothes and the rose in exchange for some food. I wouldn't normally accept that deal, but he looked desperate and I felt bad for him."

Rose. Eternal symbol of romance. Jonathan wondered if whatever gods that were laughing at his misery were taunting him or giving him a break. If a night of passion was what Kristin Blamco wanted, then Jonathan would have to indulge her. But did it truly have to go that way? Perhaps...

"Mind if I take it?"

"Oh, go ahead. You've helped the town before, and you're a good customer. Least I could do to pay you back."

Gently grabbing it with his hand, Jonathan examined for a few more moments before placing it in his shirt's chest pocket and picking up the bag with the clothes, not bothering to see what was inside.

"Thank you." he said sincerely, and walked out.


Outside Moriarty's Saloon.

Having picked up his things from the bomb, Jonathan made for the saloon. He stood outside for a good few minutes staring at the sign, hesitant to take even a step closer, trying to muster enough courage for whatever awaited him inside. Part of it was because he wasn't sure what awaited him inside. Kristin Blamco had changed her disposition of him several times during the day. Did she want to bed him? Ridicule him? Murder him? Something else entirely? No idea!

You know, just standing there isn't going to get you anywhere.

*sigh*

Of course it would appear now. It always appeared when he didn't want it to. Standing next to him with its arms folded, the Stranger stared a most pierching of stares, even if Jonathan couldn't see even a hint of its face.

"Can't a man get a moment of peace?" he snapped, annoyed at the visage's sudden appearance.

If you were having a moment of peace, I wouldn't be here, the stranger said, its voice deadpan, hiding all emotion, What exactly keeps you from walking in?

"I don't know what I'm walking into."

Hasn't stopped you before. Try again.

"Look... This situation requires caution. If things don't go well-"

Why do you think they won't?

"You've seen her, haven't you? I can't make sense of her!"

Then what's the point in think about it, when you won't figure anything out?

"You're really getting on my nerves," Jonathan let out in a low growl, massaging his forehead in an attempt to try and calm down.

You're afraid, aren't you?

He let out a deep sigh. "Looks to me like you already know the answer to that question."

Why?

"I told you, didn't I? She's stuck with me. After the way today passed, tonight may be my way to make things up to her. And if that means we'll have to do that... well, I'll just have to roll with it."

And you don't want that?

"Look, I'm not gonna lie... She is probably the sexiest woman I've seen in my life. Part of me does want it... But I mostly really don't."

Why not?

"I've never been good at it."

What makes you think she has high expectations?

"You're kidding me, right? With her looks, she could have any man she wants. I bet the majority of them were better than me."

Pretty presumptious of you, to think of her that way.

"Presumptious? Pleeeaaaase. The woman undressed in front of me. Doesn't she strike you as the kind to get what she wants, when she wants it?"

If it bothers you so much, why not try and work things out some other way?

"I told you. She's the kind of person to get what she wants. I'll try, but if I can't change her mind I'd have no choice, unless I wanted to incur her wrath again."

You don't know that.

"I KNOW I don't know!" Jonathan lashed out in anger, "I don't know ANYTHING! First she tries to kill me, then she acts like we're best friends, then she snaps at me and hates me, and now she wants me to fuck her?! How the hell am I supposed to make sense of her? She's completely incomprehensible!

Frantic deep breaths followed as an attempt to calm down. All they did was make him feel miserable.

"I try, you know?" he said again, his voice shaken and sorrowful, as though he was on the verge of tears "I really, really do try to be helpful to her... Because I got her into this mess in the first place. Yet... How can you help someone you can't understand? That seems to hate you more the more you try to appease her? She's... just... so... UAAAAAARG!"

With that exasperated growl, Jonathan seemingly collected himself again, taking a deep breath.

"Screw it. I'm going in. And whatever happens... Happens." he finished, his voice much more collected, as he walked into the Saloon.


Second Floor, First Bedroom

Jonathan did not like the way Moriarty grinned at him as he told him the location of the woman he described, but he couldn't let what a lecherous bastard like him did get to him. He had bigger, more serious things to worry about.

He stood in front of the door hesitantly for a few seconds, before mustering enough courage to walk in. He was rather annoyed that the doorhandle was unlocked; didn't she plan for intruders beforehand? Ah whatever, trying to make sense of her now was a tad too late.

"Miss... Kristin?" he inquired as he opened the door, to alert her that he had arrived. No response. Things were silent, and the room, dimly lit. He didn't like this one bit.

"Miss..." he started once again as he walked further in, only to be interrupted by what awaited him in bed. Kristin Blamco was laying in bed, her bare chest exposed for all the world to see. Jonathan barely held his hand from reflexively breaking his nose, but he couldn't stop himself from staring for a few seconds.

Could she be pretending to be asleep? Surely that was the case, considering she was supposed to be waiting for him to "talk". That's how she wanted it to begin, then? With him undressing and crawling next to her, to "wake" her up from her "sleep"? To be fair, her tastes seemed tamer than he was expecting. No matter, the big question was: Should he indulge her or not? If he didn't, he was afraid she'd snap at him immediately.

Audaces Fortuna Iuvat.

"Miss Kristin." he said firmly, somewhat loudly. As he did, he looked away from her, not wanting to stare again while she was "awake". And "awake" she did. She didn't snap at him for ruining her fantasy. That was good.

"I have brought you clothes," he continued a similar deadpan way, still not looking at her, "I'm sorry if they aren't of the best condition, they were the best I could get at such a time." he continued as he put the paper bag on the bed, next to her feet.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll be in the bathroom. I need to change my clothes." He finished, entering the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

The Wild Wastelands | Megaton | A Cell
Rock-Fucking-Salt

The taste of something salty on her lips would have ordinarily informed Enclave Intelligence Officer #411 that she had been hit in the face and that the taste that was stimulating her taste buds was blood. However, without the sensation of liquid blood oozing into her mouth and the burning sensation on her cheeks where she'd been hit, the Power Armored Bitch could only deduce one thing: These Rednecks had shot her with fucking Rock Salt. Rock... fucking... salt was an in...fucking...sult. You used Rock salt to ward off intruders and vermin. You did not use it on prisoners that you considered dangerous.

"You son of a-" Charlotte started to say before another blast of Rocksalt was sent in her general direction, the burning on her neck indicating that she'd been hit once again, a feat that wasn't considerably difficult considering that she was a large fish in a tiny barrel.

At the rate at which she was being hit, it wouldn't take long for Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411 to either 1) Bleed to Death 2) Get hit in the vitals 3) Get knocked out 4) Get swallowed up by a dimensional vortex 5) Breaks a hole in the cell and runs.

Given Charlotte's luck as of late, the whole dimensional vortex would have been a perfect ending to her already imperfect day but nothing so exciting. Instead as she was yet again buffeted by a barrage of rock salt, the Enclave Intelligence Specialist was sent into a wall... a flimsy wooden wall that was not especially adept at holding the weight of a suit of power armor.

CRASH!!

THUMP! BOOMP! THUD! CRASH! THUD! BOOMP! THUMP!

The sound of #411 rolling down the stairs towards the town center should have been followed by a few choice curses or grunts of pain but Charlotte would not be the one to give the rednecks the satisfaction of hearing that they'd hurt her. Instead, she let gravity do its work before sprawling out on the ground, her view of the sky unobstructed by anything save the local doctor who eyed her suspiciously.


The Wild Wastelands | Conjoined Paths | Temporary Camp
Sylphee Hugs!!!

~CRACK-A-CRUNCH-A-MUNCH-A-BUNCH~

That was new. It seemed that since the last time that Sylphee had seen her Daddy, someone had filled his body full of Popcorn or Packing Bubbles. Every time the Red Menace squeezed either the arms or legs rapped around her Daddy, something new would go ~CRACK~ or ~POP!~ causing the Blue Haired Twin Pony Tailed Pixie to giggle with glee.

"Ow! STOP! Ow! Hey! Ow! DAMMIT! Ow! STOP!!" Sylphee's Daddy tried to say through the varied gasps of air that the Squeezing Squid of the Slaughter's SUPER HUG-O-RAMA allowed him to inhale. Despite the vice like grip that Sylphee was able to maintain, her Daddy was still able to attempt to pry her off his body, not that it did any good since she was locked in.

"HEEHEEHEE! Oh stop it Daddy! You remember that you loved it when I would hug you like this. Unless you forgot! Did something happen to your head? Did that meanie old man hurt you?! Do you remember your name? How many fingers am I holding up?" The last of these questions being impossible to answer since Sylphee didn't show her Daddy how many fingers she was holding up as the Red Menace's arms were tightly locked around her Daddy's neck.

"GAAAAAHSP! HOOOOOOOLP!" Her Daddy Wheezed as she motioned for someone to help him. Turning around, Sylphee saw Mister Chucky Camden and someone old leather faced lady that Sylphee had never met before.

"HI MISTER CHUCKY CAMDEN!!!" Sylphee squee'd as she used her daddy's chest as a launching board and tackled Mister Chucky Camden, locking onto him with her arms of huggable iron.

THUD!!! Went Daddy as he was launched backwards by the force of Sylphee's patented GLOMP-LAUNCHER maneuver.

"O...oh...god.... not... her..." Daddy said as he picked himself up off the ground, noticing that Missy Leather Faced Lady was still pointing her Mister Matchin' Gun at him, Missy Leather Faced Lady's Leather Face not moving from where it had been when Sylphee had launched her Secret Hug Strike on Daddy, "Oh... no... no... you did see what happened to me... right? You can't... expect me... ~GASP~ ... to hug the both of them..."

"..." Missy Leather Faced Lady responded.

~CHACK!~ Missy Leather Faced Lady's Mister Matchin' Gun responded.

"oh... fine..." Daddy Tommy Toms muttered as he went over towards Sylphee and Mister Chucky Camden to give them both a hug.

Arizona

The Wild Wasteland | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Camp

Arizona didn't exactly expect the response she got from Thomas at any rate, and if she had proper eyebrows left, she would've raised one at what he said as he reached up to rub his neck.

"It's a tad hypocritical of you to threaten me after saying that you needed me to take you to Dunwich, isn't it? Plus, what she hasn't done yet, she'll inevitably do in the future."

"We can burn that bridge when we get to it, and I haven't really threatened you. Unless you consider a hug a threat?" she interjected with a small smirk.

He went on to explain what the significance of that key was, only to be interrupted by a flying tackle from Sylph. Or at least, a woman who looked an awful lot like Sylph, but was acting radically different from before. The ear-shattering screech she let out immediately after made her wonder if Sylph had some sort of twin or alter-ego.

"DADDY! DADDY! DADDY! YOU'RE ALIVE!!! WHERE'VE YOU BEEN?! I MISSED YOU? WHERE'D YOU GO? DID YOU GET THAT MEAN MAN THAT TRIED TO KILL YOU?"

She had to stifle a chuckle, but she couldn't help the amused smirk on her face.

"Well, ok. If it's that kind of hug, I can see it being used as a threat." she said before finally snickering.

The longer the young girl continued to squeeze Thomas though, her laughter died down until a look of concern twisted her patchy, wrinkled features. The pops and cracks that the ex-Undertaker's body was making were rather unsettling, but she had no idea how to get her off of him.

"Uh... How do I get her off?" she asked after a moment.

She got her answer when Sylph caught a glimpse of Charlie as if she only just now realized he was nearby this whole time, and used her "Father" as a launching pad to tackle him.

"HI MISTER CHUCKY CAMDEN!!!"

When Thomas finally pushed himself off of the ground, the look on his face could only be described as complete and utter shock.

"O...oh...god.... not... her... Oh... no... no... you did see what happened to me... right? You can't... expect me..."

He paused to gasp rather dramatically.

"To hug the both of them..."

She started to shrug, but the movement managed to dislodge something in Lester, causing the Machine Gun to let out a menacing cocking sound. The Ghoul quickly glanced down, realizing she was overdue to service the poor thing when she heard Thomas's reply.

"Oh... Fine..."

"Hey, a good hug can foster togetherness and understanding. Don't you want that? If that doesn't work, you could always deep-tongue kiss." she added with a wide, shit-eating grin.

Hey, she realized, This may actually turn out to be fun.

Kristin Blamco - Dreams & Flashbacks

The Berserker Princess, fueled by the psycho-laced stimpack had conquered her very first foe. A super mutant, wielding nothing more than a bumper sword had fallen to her now-broken sledgehammer. Her battle-sisters cheers could be heard from all around the rocky canyon. Those that had opted to using conventional firearms had signalled to their father that Kristin had succeeded, in melee combat no less.

Kristin, however, had collapsed to her knees. While coughing up blood, she could feel a definite swelling on one side of her face somewhat numbed by the effects of the stimpack. The injured Princess was aided by her battle-sisters, helping her to stand up and walk.

"Not just yet!", bellowed the voice of Kristin's father as he approached the dead super mutant, "You have made me proud beyond words, my dearest daughter! This - ", he held out the sword claimed from her opponent, "This is your blade now. You have earned the right to don the finest armor we have available. For you, Kristin Blamco, are the first of your sisters to willingly choose the path of the blade and succeed!"

Content that she could bring such joy to her father, the injured Princess grabbed the grip of the sword, only to underestimate it's weight and drop it. Her father laughed, "Fret not, you will get used to it."

"Why do we do this?", uttered the injured Princess, "Beyond the glory of combat, I mean."

It's not just about combat, Kristin. How many lives do you think you saved here today?, Kristin's father cut in.

"My own?", Kristin answered weakly, beginning to feel the extent of her wounds.

"Think beyond yourself.", her father replied with a soft-hearted smile, "Potential is key. This beast had the potential to kill one, two or maybe even ten people. Perhaps someone else would have struck this beast down. You never truly know and that's the very point."

Kristin's father stopped to stroke his beard, frowning ever-so-slightly. "How do I put this..."

"The Brotherhood hole themselves up in a bunker. The NCR squabble amongst themselves. The Legion care not for their fellow man. New Vegas cares only for itself. But what can we, as Blamco's, do? We can fight for others much like we provide for others. We fight where others may run. And in the face of ridicule, hopelessness and death: We remain brave above all."



8 years have passed since that speech.
And Kristin Blamco took those words to heart.



Kristin Blamco - Megaton: Moriarty's Saloon
Face your fears

The Sleeping Princess stirred from her slumber, vastly underestimating just how physically drained she was. Blinking softly, she discovered Jonathan standing nearby, he must have been the source of the disturbance.

"I have brought you clothes," Jonathan started firmly, "I'm sorry if they aren't of the best condition, they were the best I could get at such a time." he continued as he put the paper bag on the bed, next to her feet.

"Thank you...", murmured the Sleepy Princess, slowly getting her bearings once more as she sat up and pulled the paper bag onto her lap. Growing eager to inspect her new set of clothing.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll be in the bathroom. I need to change my clothes." Jonathan concluded, entering the nearby bathroom and closing the door behind him, leaving Kristin to her own devices.

If one could imagine a mini-Kristin pressing the power button on her brain, the real Kristin jolted awake when she properly took stock of what she was wearing, or more accurately, what she wasn't wearing. Putting her bra on once more, she bit her lip anxiously - had he seen? Of course he had seen! This was going to devalue her argument somewhat. On another note, he didn't take advantage of the situation - and for that, the Princess was thankful. Falling asleep without securing the room was careless, then again, she was used to having 17 Butler Bots guarding her room in New Vegas at all times.

Kristin emptied the contents of the paper bag onto the bed. Of all the things that Jonathan could have found for her, this article of clothing was not something that she would particularly wear back at home. Not out of snobbish contempt, don't get her wrong, she was just unaccustomed to clothing bearing the signs of fire damage.

Opening a nearby closet door had revealed a full-length mirror for her to properly model her new clothing. The plaid skirt was frayed at the edges, but it rested above the knees, an acceptable length. A stained, or rather burnt sleeves of a button-up white dress shirt was next. It was one size too large for her, but this was remedied when she opted to roll up her sleeves. Digging through her bag, Kristin fetched her emergency stockings, an item to keep her legs warm during cold days. The black stockings contrasted well with the white shirt. Stepping back to adjust her hair, she played with the idea of tying it up or letting it hang loose. She decided on the latter, all her hairpins were being used to substitute for missing buttons on the shirt.

Overall, she looked like a college graduate playing up a school uniform for a party. It was quite the departure from her silver plate-reinforced leather armor appearance. She didn't dislike it, but she could see the potential for this being an outfit for Jonathan's excitement.

Oh dear.

Her mind just had to go there.
All dressed, with little else to do, Kristin was left alone with her thoughts. Of which she had many, and of those thoughts, questions, unsettling implications and the much-loathed creep of vulnerability had arisen. Kristin appreciated the little gestures of kindness that was given to her, yet the manner in which they were handled and the harsh coldness that emanated from Jonathan made her question why he was still around.

Kristin wanted nothing more than a guide on the East Coast, since Lucy Black had refused. And while part of her entertained the notion of friendship, her relationship with Jonathan had grown strangely complicated. One moment, she was aiding him in battle with near-flawless communication, the next, she was talked down to for her inability to keep up with #411's web of manipulation. It was clear that Kristin preferred the direct approach, one steeped in honesty. Jonathan, however, had no qualms with subversion. As impressive as his display was, it did raise the worrying question: Was he just humoring her?

It wouldn't be the first time that she had lost friends to attempted exploitation because of her wealth or influence. Although in the East Coast, Kristin possessed neither wealth nor influence. She had a family name and the abilities to prove it, that was all.

Even if that weren't the case, what was Jonathan's plan for the Blue-Haired army of untrained young females? Surely he could not ignore that. They would needlessly be marching to their death, and while Kristin would prefer to train these females to be competent in their own right...she would much rather convert them to a more peaceful cause. That of Blamcoism, with an army of her own, cheese will run through the streets. Either way, her conscience will not allow her to stand by while these girls were being used as cannon fodder.

Kristin replaced the dead energy cell on her mini-microwave, heating white cheese and noodles while she waited for Jonathan.
She couldn't put this off forever, Kristin needed to talk to Jonathan and discover what kind of future they would have together.

Knocking on the bathroom door, Kristin paused a little before she piped up.

"Mister Jonathan.", she was being formal, that wasn't a good sign. "Thank you for my outfit, it's - erm - certainly different from what I usually wear."

Noticing the gap between the stockings and skirt, she imagined that this outfit might have some implications on its own. Something which she needed to rectify immediately.

Be brave at all times.

"I - I - ", Kristin almost punched the door in frustration. She's fought super mutants in melee combat! What was so preposterously difficult about this kind of confession!? With a sigh and a pause, she swallowed her pride and continued. "I don't know what you think of me, or what kind of person you think I am - and that's something I want to discuss - although, I fear that I might have the wrong impression about you - which is also something I want to discuss - and there are things I need to explain - but you - I don't know if you want to in the first place..."

She was babbling nervously. Then silence fell. A few moments passed before a softer, less-strained reply had followed.

"I didn't have enough money to afford two rooms. Then the clothes, and the radiation happened - I trust your judgement, so I got undressed.", Kristin audibly groaned and just blurted out the next sentence. "I'm a virgin, okay? This is not how I want it to happen, not that there's anything wrong with you!", she added earnestly.

She was happy that a door was separating them.

"I'm just not ready for it at all.", Kristin concluded sadly. More disappointed with herself, of all the things that could strike fear into her heart, it was the act of sex and the vulnerability surrounding it. "I'm sorry if I ruined your evening."

She opened her mouth to say more on the subject, but she was feeling painfully insecure as it was. "I made us dinner if you would like. Finely sliced brahmin jerky & noodles, topped with white Blamco cheese."

Even in the brief role of BlamCo Hostess, she couldn't move past the awkwardness.

"I'll understand if this is our last meal together."

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite

"Oof!"

The air rushed out of Charlie's lungs as Thomas' fist rammed into his torso. The followup crack to the head dazed him temporarily and by the time his vision cleared he realized with horror that his own pistol was moving towards his head...

"STOP IT CHARLIE CANNON!"

Thomas and Charlie both froze at that outburst, which gave Arizona the chance to drag them apart. The old ghoul then proceeded to dress them down. The lecturing tone reminded Charlie of being back home when his mother caught him and his siblings roughhousing out in the fields. A flush of shame ran through him, which was compounded when Arizona slapped him around the back of the head. Then she said something ridiculous.

"Hug."

"Excuse me?" Charlie said, looking at Arizona incredulously. He'd had more physical contact with this man than he wanted already, this wasn't some bullshit kid's story where people's issues could be solved with hugs and friendship.

Speaking of kids...

"DADDY! DADDY! DADDY! YOU'RE ALIVE!!! WHERE'VE YOU BEEN?! I MISSED YOU? WHERE'D YOU GO? DID YOU GET THAT MEAN MAN THAT TRIED TO KILL YOU?"

Oh dear. Sylphee was back. Charlie had to chuckle as the Blue Haired Whirlwind of Limbs launched herself at her "Father". That chuckle turned into groans of pain as Sylphee turned to him and launched into a crash tackle hug.

"Gah! Sylphee please... can't... breathe!" Charlie choked out as Sylphee's iron hug crushed his windpipe. Then things got even worse as Thomas wandered over and hugged the pair of them.

'How did this even happen?' Charlie wondered as he slowly ran out of oxygen and dignity.

Robin wasn't going to wait any longer, she cloaked as quickly as she could while the idiots were otherwise engaged. That they'd not done anything to restrain her was a relief and a mystery though it felt like an overconfidence play, they probably weren't expecting her to vanish into thin air either.

Unfortunately despite her best observations she'd not been able to delay it firing or make much headway towards how it operated. She tried to get round the back of the machine looking for wires or a plug maybe. She Kept her ears open for when they'd noticed she was gone.

She'd not expected them to threaten the NCR, made her question certain convictions she figured braining the mad man wouldn't do much good, or maybe it would. But there was always the possibility of an overload but then she doubted she or anyone else nearby would be able to get clear. The scary thing was how clearly she felt herself thinking, when her homeland was threatened.

"Hrmphh, this episode again?! I swear that those fellas only ever recorded 'bout three of these things."

Chester grumbled, radio held close to his ear, only just getting the feint signal from GNR. Like a safe-cracker with a stethoscope he listened close, very slowly turning the dials this way and that, listening for anything else that wasn't static. Not much luck. He let out an annoyed sigh, peering into the jumble of wires.

"Might be a slight misalignment..."

Only now did he turn back to Trixie, who was frantically piecing things together, mumbling to herself.

"You gots an idea I'm guessin', hm?"

He asked, eyebrow raised, peering over at whatever she was doing.

"I might just have a few other things too if ya need em, within reason at least..."

He added the last bit cautiously, not wanting to sacrifice any of the good merchandise if he could get away without it.

Arizona

The Wild Wasteland | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite

When Thomas finally lurched over to the two and wrapped his arms around them both in a hug of his own, Arizona smiled a little and nodded in approval.

"See? Don't you feel better now?" she asked, before she finally caught a glimpse of the kid's face and grimaced.

"Alright, that's enough. A hug isn't meant to suffocate someone." the Ghoul told them as she strode over and pulled Thomas off of him.

But when she tried to do the same to Sylph, she was surprised at just how strong the little things arms were. It almost seemed like no matter how hard she tried to dislodge her, she wouldn't budge.

"The hell?! What are her arms made of, steel? Thomas, help me out here!" she called as she tried to tug her off of the poor, suffocating boy.

But the moment she manged to get her hands unlocked, she realized the problem. Her legs were locked around Charlie too, meaning she wasn't coming off without getting her peeled off all at once.

"Alright, new plan: I'll get her legs, you get her arms." she told him, before she started to try and unwrap Sylph from her friend.

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite
Witness and Suffer!

A large part of Thomas "Shifty" McGee was tempted to allow Sylphee's hug to crush the chest cavity of her young benefactor while he watched with a stupid and silly grin on his face and chalking up the young man's death to reaping what he had sowed. There was another part of the Formerly Friendly Neighborhood Undertaker that admired the conviction and unwavering loyalty that Charlie Cannon had displayed. Despite his desire to protect the weak from the evils of the Wastelands, Thomas was quite certain that Charlie was getting a crash course on how far from weak Sylphee was, especially since the young man's face was starting to turn blue.

"Alright." The Pale and Tall Manhandler responded as he gripped the Red Menace's arms, "One... two... THREE!"

~WUMPFFF!~

The sound of lungs reinflating themselves for the first time in what probably seemed an eternity for Charlie Cannon was welcome since it meant that Thomas would not be performing any life saving procedures on him that day. It was slightly ironic that one so familiar with the subject of death be somewhat versed in first aid.

With the danger of Charlie dying from a catastrophic failure of his rib cage passed, the well meaning, dapperly dressed gentleman took a seat next to the fire, looking at the key that he had lifted from the Crimson Clad Kook's neck.

"Hey Daddy! Whatcha looking at?" Sylphee asked as she sat herself next to him, completely unaware of the face that she had the key around her neck in the first place, "Ohhhhhhh! I have a Mister Clicky Key in Mister Death Bag-o-treasure! Want me to show you?"

"No... it won't be necessary Sylphee." The Member of Clan McGee said quietly. Given her lapse in memory, he doubted that she was aware of who this belonged to. There was another possible reason that Sylphee had the key that had been to Lucy by Thomas McGee and it related to his last request before being frozen by the C**T known as Enclave Intelligence Specialist #411. It was possible that Lucy was very much alive and had given the key to Sylphee.

Turning to Arizona, he motioned for her attention.

"I've been going through our supplies. Between the ammo you and Lester ran through with those Raiders and the Explosives that Sylph used to bring down the building over there, I suspect that we may need to stop for supplies sooner than we had anticipated. Given that Tenpenny Towers is still a fair distance from here, it might be more feasible for us to resupply at Megaton. The girl that owns the supply store these is a bit eclectic but she does have a large stock of ammunition on hand. We could get there by the tail end of tomorrow if we leave in the morning." He stated before adding, "We'll have to be quick about it. I doubt that we'll be wanting the explosives junky to linger too long around the Nuclear Bomb in the town center and Walt knows what sort of trouble Sylphee will get herself into."

Of course, Thomas was unaware that Sylph had already gotten herself into a bit of trouble in that particular town since she'd impaled the proprietor of Moriarty's Saloon in the shoulder with her wrist blade. Had he known that, he would have likely left Sylphee tied to a pole outside the town.

"What do you think?"

"I might just have a few other things too if ya need em, within reason at least..."

The noise from the ventilation threw Trixie from her focus, quickly she turned to Chesture.
"Well if you have a small knife or tweezers along with some tape..." She paused for a second, noticing a voice coming from the ventilation. "Do you hear that?"

"ERRRR! UUUUUUGH!!! OOOOOMPH!!!"
Trixie's face turned a bright red, right after she was done slapping it with the palm of her hand, that is.
She approached #209 and looked up at him, her hands positioned on her hips with a tad of sass.
"Now how are you going to get us out of this mess you caused up there? Hmm?" She asked in a hushed tone, pulling Chester's small screwdriver from where she was seated.
"Maybe I can make use of you after all, but the rest of your clothes had better be covering your lower end." From this position all she could see was his naked torso and face.
"Give me a quick lift Chester, and you'd better not fall apart while doing so!"

Reaching up to where #209 was positioned, she started jabbing at the screws, the grating was thin, so she missed a few times, stabbing into #209's now fleshy exterior. "Stop squirming!" She stated, loosening the bolts, a creaking noise occurring as the ventilation cover strained to maintain #209's weight.

The Wild Wastelands | The Evil Vault of Doctor Evil
Frictional Forces

Given the very nature of the setting of the Wild Wastelands and the title of this ongoing series it would only be in the nature of these series of posts to go on about how Enclave Heavy Weapons Specialist #209's muscular rippling body, his sweat glistening in the light of the overhead florescent lighting, muscles heaving against the metal shaft that wrapped itself around him as if desiring to touch every inch and orifice of his body as he was released from the ventilation system opening like a new born baby, his naked body falling upon the hapless Trixie, splashing her face with his manliness before settling on top of her.

Of course that's one way to look at it (you perv). The observational method would have noted that sure Enclave Heavy Weapons Specialist #209 was in fact using all of his substantial muscle mass to escape the metal tomb. The issue was that by contacting all of his muscles at once, he was actually causing his body to expand through the flexing of his muscles and increasing the frictional forces that kept hi in place. It was only through sheer accident and the sensation of a spider crawling on his leg that the Enclave Dominator managed to fall out of the opened Ventilation shaft and land on top of Trixie before hopping up and brushing himself off rather briskly as he sought to kill the spider.

"AHHH GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!" The rather less than manly looking #209 yelled until a rather large looking spider dropped to the ground with an audible click before skittering off under one of the cell's beds which was soon followed by a number of laser blasts coming from the vicinity of the pistols in #209's hands.

"Goddamn Spiders! I hate those things." Enclave Heavy Weapons Specialist #209 said before realizing that the two inhabitants of the cell were looking at him, "What? It's called shrinkage okay? It's cold up there!"

Feeling rather exposed, the Enclave Dominator grabbed a blanket from a bed and wrapped it around his waist before looking at the Trixie and Chester.

"Sooooo... did I miss anything?"

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite

"One... two... THREE!"

~WUMPFFF!~

Sweet, delicious oxygen rushed into Charlie's lungs before being expelled again in a violent fit of coughing. It took him several moments to recover his composure and realise that he hadn't been accidentally strangled to death. Rubbing his sore neck he tuned in to the conversation going on between his strange companions..

"We'll have to be quick about it. I doubt that we'll be wanting the explosives junky to linger too long around the Nuclear Bomb in the town center and Walt knows what sort of trouble Sylphee will get herself into."

"Heh, yea about that bomb... last time I was in Megaton I may or may not have tried to pull it apart..." Charlie chimed in awkwardly. "I'm sure they won't remember that though... maybe."

Arizona

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite

Once Charlie was free from Sylphee's clutches, Arizona bent down over him and couldn't help but smirk, even as he started to cough. She had to give the little girl credit, she had an iron-grip whenever she really wanted to give a hug. It was something to be wary of in case she ever got on her good side.

"Ah, you'll be fine." she said after a moment when he finally started to breathe properly again.

She started to make her way back to the car she was using as a seat when Thomas motioned her over and she joined him off to one side.

"I've been going through our supplies. Between the ammo you and Lester ran through with those Raiders and the Explosives that Sylph used to bring down the building over there, I suspect that we may need to stop for supplies sooner than we had anticipated. Given that Tenpenny Towers is still a fair distance from here, it might be more feasible for us to resupply at Megaton. The girl that owns the supply store these is a bit eclectic but she does have a large stock of ammunition on hand. We could get there by the tail end of tomorrow if we leave in the morning. We'll have to be quick about it. I doubt that we'll be wanting the explosives junky to linger too long around the Nuclear Bomb in the town center and Walt knows what sort of trouble Sylphee will get herself into."

She started to nod, but the mention of a Nuclear Bomb made her hesitate. Charlie took notice of it too.

"Heh, yea about that bomb... last time I was in Megaton I may or may not have tried to pull it apart... I'm sure they won't remember that though... maybe."

"Right... Well I can keep an eye on the kid in regards to the bomb, nothing to worry about that. It sounds like a good plan, Thomas. For now though," she said, turning to Charlie and Sylphee, "If either of you two have guns, hand 'em over. If you're going to tag along, chances are I'm going to have to put my life in your hands, and I'm only going to trust properly maintained weapons."

The Wild Wastelands | Conjoined Paths | Temporary Campsite
The French Stickler

"Okie dokie Missy Leather Faced Lady!" The Crimson Menace exclaimed, excited that she was going to be allowed to carry a gun once again, not that she used guns all that often, but it made the young Blue Haired munchkin feel important. The one problem that Sylphee had was that the last gun that she had been allowed to carry was all the way back in Mister Citermadel inside of some storage room. Sylphee, however, wasn't going to let something as small as distance keep her from carrying a boomstick. This was very likely the reason the young blue eyed, eternally happy little sprite suddenly walked ran skipped off towards the ruins of Mister Fishy Face and Amigos building.

Looking at his Partner, the Former Undertaker sitting by the fire shrugged in am "I have no idea" sort of manner before returning to his duties of preparing something to eat, which was some sort of weird cross between cheese sauce and beef stew. Food in the Wastelands had been getting progressively weirder and weirder in the recent weeks, even the game that Thomas had hunted seemed to be suffering from a cheesy assault on their intestines.

As the under-appreciated former Undertaker finished preparing that night's meal, a strange noise drew closer and closer to the small camp. The sound of something being dragged was reminiscent of the sound a plow makes when being pulled behind a pair of brahmin. Looking up from where he sat, Thomas spotted the rouge rogue pulling a rather large and beat up looking Anti Materiel rifle.

Mister Ti Mat (so named because the rest of the letters in Anti Materiel Rifle had been scratched off) was super super heavy, forcing the Red Menace to drag him behind her as she returned to Missy Leather Faced Lady. The mad trip was brought to a skidding halt when Sylphee attempted to hand Mister Ti Mat to Missy Leather Faced Lady and accidentally dropped him.

BOOOOOOOM! went Mister Ti Mat as he struck the found and went flying into the air before landing on top of Daddy.

CRACK! THUD! SPLISH! Went Daddy as he went to sleep, his face landing in a bowl of dinner.

Not at all worried about her Daddy's medical state, Sylphee picked up Mister Ti Mat and handed him to Missy Leather Faced Lady.

"Here you go, Missy Leather Faced Lady!"

Arizona

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite

Sylph, or Sylphee, or whatever the blue-haired girl's name was seemed overly excited at Arizona's demand for whatever guns they had, and she promptly skipped off in the direction of the building that she had demolished not long ago. But it was her response that caused the old Ghoul to glare in her wake.

"Okie dokie Missy Leather Faced Lady!"

"Hey! I have a name, girlie, you better use it!" she called out before sitting down with a huff, muttering, "First Thomas with his 'Old One' shit, now I'm 'Leather Faced Lady'? For fucks sake."

Turning to both Thomas and Charlie, she jerked a thumb in the girl's direction.

"What's her deal anyway? A little bit ago, she was this sullen little thing that didn't mind keeping to herself, now she's this bundle of energy that nearly strangled both of you with the mother of all bear-hugs. What gives?" she asked with a quirked brow.

She didn't get a chance to hear their answers though, since the girl in question made her way back to camp, making an ungodly noise as she dragged something behind her. Arizona found out just what it was when she pulled it up to hand it over, only to drop it. It turned out to be a rifle, and a big one. The moment it hit the ground, it bounced, and promptly hit Thomas, knocking him out cold and sending him face-first into his dinner.

"Oh shit, Thomas!" she cried, rushing over to pull his face out of the stew and check the back of his head.

It didn't seem to injure him too badly from what she could tell. Maybe a concussion at the worst, she thought as she breathed a sigh of relief and gently laid him back. He was guaranteed to have one hell of a headache though when he woke up. Poor Thomas didn't seem to catch a break today. She shook her head and sighed softly before turning to the little blue-haired hellion as she held out the rifle.

"Here you go, Missy Leather Faced Lady!"

"Arizona." she ground out, snatching the rifle out of her hands with an intense glare, "My name is Arizona. Not 'Old One', not 'Leather Faced Lady', not 'Ghoul Whore With The Gun'. It's Arizona. Got it? And please, can you both stop trying to break my guide?"

When she sat back down to look the rifle over, her mouth fell open in a gape. It was easily the worst-maintained Anti-Materiel Rifle she had ever seen, and the state it was in was almost enough to make her weep. It certainly looked like it had barely been cleaned once in two centuries.

"Oh my fucking god, whose rifle is this?! If you took it from one of those assholes in the building, then good riddance! Whoever this poor thing belonged to deserves to die just because of how goddamn filthy this thing is! I'd be surprised if it could even fire like this!" she said with a look that was a cross between pity and insult.

Standing up, she sighed before starting towards the remains of the raiders building.

"I'm going to need more parts for this thing. Don't wait up on my account." she told them.

The Wild Wastelands | Conjoined Paths | Temporary Camp
Missy Arizona Not Old One Not Leather Faced Lady Not Ghoul Whore With The Gun

That was a rather long name. That was actually a really long name, so long that the Red Menace might have had a rather difficult time remembering it. Sylphee was easy to remember. Daddy was definitely easy to remember and Mister Chuckles Camden was pretty easy as well. Missy "Arizona Not Old One Not Leather Faced Lady Not Ghoul Whore With The Gun" was a bit of a mouthful. This would definitely not deter the Blue Haired Butcher of Blair Circle. She'd remember Missy Arizona Not Old One Not Leather Faced Lady Not Ghoul Whore With The Gun's name if it was the last thing she would ever ever ever do... which, given Missy Arizona Not Old One Not Leather Faced Lady Not Ghoul Whore With The Gun's attitude, it might be.

Sylphee watched as Missy Arizona Not Old One Not Leather Faced Lady Not Ghoul Whore With The Gun walked off towards some of the ruined buildings that once belonged to Mister Fishy Gishy Face and waited until Missy Arizona Not Old One Not Leather Faced Lady Not Ghoul Whore With The Gun was just out of view before responding.

"Alright Missy Arizona Not Old One Not Leather Faced Lady Not Ghoul Whore With The Gun, we'll wait up for you!!" Sylphee called out cheerfully as she started stirring the bubbling stew that had been flavored with Daddy's face, humming cheerfully and loudly before tasting the stew.

"Hmmmm... needs more Rad Scorpion." The Ditzy Assassin exclaimed as she pulled Mister Pinchy out of her pack. It appeared that Mister Pinchy was almost finishing the process of regenerating his stinger and was violently trying to pinch Sylphee's face off.

"Oh calm down Mister Pinchy! This won't hurt." The Blue Eyed Idiot said soothingly before she plucked Mister Pinchy's half formed stinger off of his tail with an expert twist, "There! See? That wasn't so bad was it?"

Apparently Mister Pinchy agreed because he had gone limp.

Depositing the half formed stinger into the stew, Sylphee stirred the bubbling mixture a bit before tasting it.

"Perfect!" Sylphee squee'd as she put some on a bowl for Mister Chucky Camden, "Here you go Mister Chucky Camden! Eat up! You'll need your strength."

Grabbing a bowl for herself, Sylphee laid on her Daddy's belly as she waited for Mister Chucky Camden's verdict on the stew.

The Wild Wastelands | Intersecting Paths | Temporary Campsite
Charlie's Going Through One of Those Phases

"I'll keep my gun thank you very much. It works just fine." Charlie responded to Arizona, somewhat snappily. He knew that he was being a bit of a jerk but the events of the day were wearing on him and he was rather tired of being lectured at by the two newcomers.

After Sylphee ran off before he could stop her Charlie spent the time waiting for her return checking his gear, making sure all his explosives were secure and not about to fail. His armour had gone through a lot recently but it was still holding together fairly well, apart from the hole in his glove where the shrapnel had gone through. Hopefully he could get that fixed in Megaton or wherever it was they ended up going from here.

Sylphee's return brought about Arizona's departure. Mumbling and grumbling about the state of the rifle she stalked off into the ruins. As far as Charlie was concerned the rifle had served well enough already, giving Sylphee's "Father" a good brain rattling. He had to suppress a smile at that, it wasn't nice to gloat over others pain. It did make him feel good though. What did not was the sight of Sylphee preparing him some radscorpion-flavoured stew.

"Here you go Mister Chucky Camden! Eat up! You'll need your strength."

"Uh... sure Sylphee." Charlie said, taking the bowl nervously. With the boisterous girl watching him expectantly he couldn't not eat the food...

Taking a deep breath Charlie took a spoonful and shoved it in his mouth. The flavour was acidic and overpowering, burning the back of his throat and rising up into his nose. Swallowing the painful brew he coughed before weakly smiling at Sylphee.

"Not bad Sylphee. It's strong but good." He lied, hoping she'd be satisfied with that so he could dispose of the poisonous dish.

The bathroom was surprisingly clean and functional for a saloon built out of scrap from a scrap city built around an atomic bomb. The floor, walls, appliances and mirror were (somewhat) clean, the toilet didn't have human waste decomposing in it, and the shower, small though it was, looked so clean he wondered if anyone had ever used it. Moriarty, sad excuse of a human being as he was, at the very least offered services worthy of the coin he asked for, for along with what he had seen of the rest of the room, it was the bestquality he had encountered since the fall of Raven Rock.

He could use a shower, though he doubted he'd have the time for it. Considering how he had found Kristin, it seemed evident that she was in the mood for... other things, and he was afraid she would be filled with wroth if he were to request time to shower.

Or even worse, join him.

No. Nononono. Showering would not do for now. He hurriedly removed his clothes, reluctant to keep her waiting to long, a motion he abandoned once he saw his naked upper body in the mirror, letting out a groan of dissatisfaction as his insecurities resurfaced. He looked... skeletal, and along with his body hanging from old age, he looked extremely unattractive. Just... what the hell did she see in him?

Anxiety rising, he turned away from the mirror. He had survived bandits, deathclaws, super mutants! Why the hell did this have to bugger him so? Placing his clothes on the left corner of the room, he turned to his backpack, starting to search for the spares. As he did, though, he saw something and immediately stopped in his tracks.

The cross pendant. Just seeing it made his already bad mood worsen. He picked it up and stared for a second, before clunching it in his fist bitterly and finally putting it back in the pack.

Don't go there now, Jon. You have more pressing matters to deal with.

Yes. Right. Back to reality. He found the clothes, except... It wasn't his spares. It was the clothing that Lucy Black had left for him, Isaac's clothes.

"It's family tradition to help those that we meet."

Lucy... how was she, he wondered. He felt guilty for not going to the clinic to check on her. But he... didn't have the mental fortitude to face her. No, stop. Don't dwell on it. The day had been difficult enough as it were; he needed time to recharge lest the negativity swallowed him whole.

That wasn't exactly a hopeful prospect.

He wore the clothes: a white dress shirt and brown trousers. They were his size, except for the fact that they were made for a person his size that at least ate every day, and so felt a bit... spacious. Rolling up the sleeves up to the forearm, he also changed the bandage on his left hand, rolling it all the way up to the sleeve. He took one more look at the mirror, stroked his filthy almost-beard, and turned back to his backpack, taking out a plastic bag containing shaving gel, a razor and aftershave. Shaving had a bit of a risk attached to it due to the fact that it would take some amount of time and he didn't want to keep her waiting, but it was one he was willing to take; he looked like shit, yes, but maybe he could look less so.

Shit is shit. What's the point?

Was he really arguing with himself about shaving? Damn it, old man, get it together. Just fucking do it. And so he did. Burying his issues about his looks deep in a layer of shaving cream, Jonathan found himself absorbed in the act, for it worked well as a distraction. Unfortunately for him, one cannot ignore reality forever, and in his case it came knocking on the bathroom door. His chest tightened. The princess had grown impatient it would seem. The knocking stopped for a second, and all that followed was silence. He couldn't stop his hands shaking, and his breaths had become short.

"Mister Jonathan," the princess finally said, breaking the silence. Did she... really call him mister? She didn't exactly seem the kind to stick to formalities. Something was amiss. Was the change of attitude another attempt at bedding him? Surely it was so; she had been direct with the way she was "sleeping", so it made sense that, seeing it didn't work, she would try something more subtle. Too bad she wasn't good with subtleties, then, for he saw through her attempt immediately.

Not even a moment's respite, he thought to himself. The princess had been relentless with her advances, but he wasn't quite ready yet. All he asked for was a bit of patience as he prepared himself for the act. But then again, the princess had proven that she wasn't exactly the understanding sort. His treatment during most of the day had proved evidence enough.

And so, with razor in trembling hand, he went back to shaving. She'd get what she wanted, but not before he was ready aswell. It was only fair, after all.

"Thank you for my outfit, it's - erm - certainly different from what I usually wear."

It only just occured to him that he hadn't quite seen what he had gotten her. Was that a hint of hesitation that he spied in her voice? Surely not; the woman was willing to walk around in her underwear, whatever it was that he had gotten her surely was tame in comparison. He cleaned the razor with water and continued.

"I - I - "

Jonathan threw a glance at the door before going back to shaving. This behaviour she was exhibiting was highly uncharacteristic. He couldn't help but wonder what was the cause of this sudden switch in moods. Was she suffering from a behavioural disorder? Or was this also one of her easy-to-spot tricks? He couldn't help but feel she was humouring him.

"I don't know what you think of me, or what kind of person you think I am - and that's something I want to discuss - although, I fear that I might have the wrong impression about you - which is also something I want to discuss - and there are things I need to explain - but you - I don't know if you want to in the first place..."

He turned to stare at the door, puzzled, before shaking his head and going back to shaving. The girl was making even less sense than before, and her mumbling was as incoherent as it was annoying. He couldn't quite grasp what her problem was, or why she was being so frustratingly unintelligible, or why of all the times to talk about whatever the fuck she was talking about she chose this time when she had made it clear that she wanted a good fuck to pass the night.

"I didn't have enough money to afford two rooms. Then the clothes, and the radiation happened - I trust your judgement, so I got undressed."

Yeah, right. He was growing tired of her charade and the situation she had thrown him in, and her last words felt like she was insulting his intelligence. And it showed, for his barberwork had grown from being very attentive to detail to rash and rough. Good thing he was almost done, then, for he wanted it done. He wanted it all done. The shaving, the sex, the night... let it be all be done already.

"I'm a virgin, okay? This is not how I want it to happen, not that there's anything wrong with you!"

The razor drew blood as Jonathan turned to stare at the door, his mouth hanging, unable to take action or even muster a thought. The princesses' words hit him like a tree falling on an inexperienced lumberjack, and he stood there starring for a good few seconds. It wasn't often that he found himself in such loss of words or moves or thought, and he didn't quite know what to make of what was said, but there was one thing he was certain of.

He was glad that a door was separating them.

"I'm just not ready for it at all."

What the hell... was she talking about?! Had she not been the one to do this with all her advancements and not-quite-subtle-but-subtle-enough seduction? No way this was part of her foreplay; such degrees of manipulation were well above her. If so, then was she really having second thoughts?

"I'm sorry if I ruined your evening."

Ruined his evening? Was she really so blind so as to see that this wasn't what he wanted? That-

"I made us dinner if you would like. Finely sliced brahmin jerky & noodles, topped with white Blamco cheese."

Oh no.

"I'll understand if this is our last meal together."

Nonononononononono.

Everything slowly started making sense. All that bullshit she was saying about getting wrong impressions wasn't, in fact, bullshit.

She thought he was in love with the Princess of BlamCo.

He gave off such a bad impression he could hardly believe how blind he was to seeing it. Of course she got the wrong impression! He had stared at her breasts for what seemed to be an eternity and stuttered like a mentally challenged super mutant. And considering how uncomfortable she sounded and how she thought she had ruined his evening... Boy, did she have quite the bad idea of him. She really thought that he wanted to seduce her? How had he given her such a ba-

Of course. He was Enclave, it's what they did. Lies, murder and emotional manipulation. Still, she had made dinner for the both of them. Was she perhaps actually giving him a chance to explain himself? If so, he wasn't going to let it go to waste.

He sighed, and went back to shaving. The wound from the razor was only a shallow one and had already stopped bleeding. He finished, and took a look at the mirror. He looked like a plain, old university professor. Or at least, a university professor that was dragged into a top-secret organization orchistrating the salvation (or maybe end) of the world. But at least, he no longer had to care so much about his looks, because the princess wasn't quite interested in them. That fact made him feel a bit disappointed for a fraction of a second, though he couldn't quite figure out why. Checking the bandage on his hand to make sure it hadn't gone loose, he took a deep breath and opened the door.

The princess, anxiously sitting on the bed as she was, jolted upwards at the sound of the door that one of her hairpins, poor substitute for a button as it were, launched off the dress shirt, revealing a bit of cleavage.

So that was the clothes he had gotten her... well... it was something, he supposed. He couldn't deny she looked rather attrac-

Shaking his head for a brief second, Jonathan took another deep breath and eyed the princess sternly. He had one chance to make amends for the day, and by the hells he wasn't about to let it go to waste.

"You... aren't the only one that was given the wrong impression..." he started, regretful of the farce of a scene he had contributed to making, before collecting his words to be more neutral and collected, "But that doesn't matter. You have prepared us dinner and wish to talk. Shall we begin?"

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