[color=00aeef]FRIEDA RICHTER[/color] - Salem Clinic -- mid-afternoon

The doctor gave Frieda a warm smile.  She found herself blushing, slightly, as he took the proffered bag from her hand.  Frieda tucked some stray hair, still damp, behind her ear and broke eye contact.  [i]It's because he's only ever just been nice to you, with no ulterior motive.[/i]

An image of her brother smirking popped into her mind.  She pushed it away.

"Thank you Frieda, I could certainly use a break. Perhaps some fresh air could do me some good as well..."  The doc nodded and exit the clinic.  Frieda settled herself against the far wall, sitting on a folding chair long seized into the open position and hefting her long legs up onto a fallen pew.  She rummaged into the lunch bag and had consumed a sandwich before she even realized it.

She ate the second one more slowly, listening carefully as the mutant, referred to as Gorge, continued to tell his story.

He detailed, at length, his origins, as part of the Master's army.  She knew about the Master, to some extent, but it was always more of a history lesson than something she ever expected to encounter in real life.  The more he spoke, the more ill she felt.  He seemed to casually just disassemble his laser and clean the components while he continued, but the knot in her stomach twisted tighter.  Gorge seemed to be talking about the Brotherhood of Steel, by reference to 'Midwest'.  

[i]Obviously, he is.  No self respecting branch of the Enclave would ever consider letting a mutant, even a well-spoken one, come within ten feet of the doors.

It's disgusting.[/i]  She sniffed.  

"...And to your remark about super mutants in their ranks, they also had ghouls, raiders, townsfolk, some robots, and a few sentient hairy death claws. Those things creeped me out” Gorge shivered. “Our group joined them after some trench warfare and displaying tactics other super mutants never did, their leader challenged ours to one on one combat and won at the cost of a head injury.”

Listening to a super mutant talk about other abominations as creepy was the last straw.  Frieda's breath suddenly became short.  A warm, uncomfortable feeling welled in the back of her throat, and a wave of nausea flowed through her body.  [i]I need to get out of here.[/i]

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and scrambled to flee the clinic without making too much of a scene.  She vaulted over the rubble and dead deathclaw at the back door and doubled over in the middle of the street, panting hard, willing herself not to vomit.  The very thought of the Brotherhood -- for all their faults -- taking in super mutants to fight for them, was revolting enough.  That a super mutant would dare suggest there were things worse than he, out in this god forsaken wasteland?

Frieda clutched her stomach and fell to her knees, feeling oddly dizzy and nauseous at the same time.

[i]I should never have left, Brian.  I should have just finished myself off, and made them clean up the mess.  Are you even out here, somewhere?  Are you alive?[/i]  A tear rolled down her cheek and landed into the dust at her knees.  [i]I bet you did the right thing and just offed yourself when you were stuck out here.[/i]  A few more tears followed the first to join an expanding wet spot on the ground.  Frieda took some deep breaths and wiped her eyes on the shoulder of her sleeve.  [i]Fuck.  Even if you did, something inside me won't let me rest until I find your dead body, even if it's just to join it.  We came into this world together and it'd only right if we exit it together, too.[/i]

She found herself calming down, slightly, but her hands were shaking, and there was only one thing to fix that.  Frieda reached into her back pocket for her pack of smokes and remembered she'd finished it hours ago.  She groaned.  Pushing herself back up to her feet, her eyes were drawn to the entry door to the weapon shop popping open and the woman from before, clad in leather armour, leaving it, with Waylon stepping out to watch her leave, before going back inside.

She remembered how comfortable she felt, talking to him all night.  Frieda glanced back at the clinic, and hoped Arthur wouldn't be too mad at her for ducking out of there once more.  [i]It's just for a smoke.  I'll be back in five minutes, tops.[/i]

Frieda walked over to the weapon shop and knocked on the door, before realizing she probably could have just walked in.  Before her hand landed on the doorknob, the door popped open, and there stood Waylon.  "Uh, hey," she began, quietly, feeling suddenly quite sheepish.  She reached up and scratched the back of her head.  "Can I bum a cigarette?  I'll owe you one, I promise."