[color=00aeef]FRIEDA RICHTER[/color] -- Salem clinic - noon

"Uh, well yes actually," Arthur replied, clearing his throat, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to go out and see who might need medical attention? And help them to the clinic if they need assistance of course. I'll begin treating Steve as best I can and then start on anyone else who might need help. Afterwards I'd like to have a good look at one or all of those Deathclaws...if possible..." He pondered aloud, "I've just...well...I've never seen one before...in the flesh that is.."

He seemed uncomfortable.  Frieda figured it was a little bit of latent shock from the attack.  "Sure, I'll take a quick jaunt through town.  It's your lucky day about a deathclaw, though."  She pointed to the destroyed back door and the corpse of the beast splayed through it.  "Literally left at your door!"  Frieda watched his reaction.  "I'll...try to rein in my sense of humour."  She checked the cell on her pistol, then went back out the front door.  Her eyes settled on the diner.  Seemed as good a time as any to find out what that scream was all about.

Frieda walked into the diner and glanced around at the mess, which included a dead deathclaw.  Celeste was perched on a bar stool next to Rick, pale as paper, clutching a mug of coffee that did little more than just steam her face.  Betty was unenthusiastically sweeping up.  "Everyone all right, in here?  I can escort you to the clinic."

Betty shrugged, while Celeste nodded, wordlessly.  "Uh, okay."  Frieda tapped her hands on her thighs.  "Oh, has anyone seen Brandy?"

"Nope, and that hair-pasting snivelling little [i]bitch[/i] better not make herself seen around here, anytime soon!" Betty rattled off, dramatically slamming the contents of her dustpan into a trash bin.

"...what?"

Celeste locked eyes with Frieda and gave her head a short shake.  Frieda rolled her eyes.  Catty drama was something she never, ever had time for.  "Well, if any of you find an injury or something you want to get checked out, feel free to come by the clinic."

Frieda stepped back into the town square and held her nose as she stood over the dead deathclaw matriarch.  The mutants always smelled the worst -- they seemed less disciplined than barn animals, living in their own filth -- and its bodily fluids and guts seeping out into the sunlight reeked something awful.  She toed it, before stepping past.  "Brandy?" she called, repeatedly, as she walked around the debris.  The dust had nearly settled, stirred up by the frenzy of the turrets.  "Brandy!  Where are you?  It's safe, now.  Are you hurt?"

Frieda looked around, her brow furrowed in a frown.  "Has anyone seen Brandy?"

"Didya try her house?" Barney piped up, leaning against the fence line of his own.  "Seems like a logical place to go, after somethin' like that."

"Last I saw, she was burning the rubber of her soles getting away from that," Frieda pointed at the matriarch corpse.  "I just wanted to make sure she wasn't laid up out here with a broken leg, or something."

Barney grunted.  "I took a quick sweep and didn't see nothin'.  I'll walk through again on my way to the diner, but really, go check her house, or with her boyfriend.  Use yer head."

Frieda bit the inside of her cheek as hard as possible to refrain from replying.  She marched off, around the back of the clinic, and towards the house.  Sure enough, the front door was sitting wide open.  "Brandy!" Frieda hollered from the porch.  "Brandy, are you in here, somewhere?  I'm coming in -- it's Frieda," she added, just in case.  She stepped across the threshold and looked around.  

"Brandy, the deathclaws are all gone, now.  Everything's okay, out there.  I just want to see if you're all right.  I can take you to the clinic, if you need some help."  Frieda slowly made her way up the stairs.  "Are you up here?"  She looked into both bedrooms but Brandy couldn't be seen.  She paused, then knelt and looked under the bed.  Nothing but dustbunnies.

Frieda began to feel upset.  She'd only known the girl for a couple of days, but the thought that she was bleeding out somewhere like an injured cat made her scared.  "Brandy, if you're here, can you answer me?"  She found herself standing in the kitchen.  "We're worried about you, we just want to help.  Me, and Waylon, and...and, uh...Shelby!"

[i]Maybe she really isn't here.[/i]  Frieda frowned deeper, drumming her fingers on the kitchen countertop.  She took a deep breath, calming herself in an attempt to figure out where else her friend could be.