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Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Searat
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Searat The Aqueous Rodent

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Shutting his eyes did not stop the feeling of dread that filled his entire being as every footfall of the beast only told him that the massive creature was coming closer and closer to take his life. The short moments that passed felt like hours as Emil awaited the inevitable feeling of claws tearing into his flesh. While he was making peace with God, an odd sound reverberated in the lobby. Like stone hitting tile. Emil cracked open one eye to see what had caused the sound. He was unsure who or what caused the sound, but the sight of the massive creature's change in attention both lightened his heart as well as gave him a pang of worry for his companions. It was then the young man heard someone yelling in panic and soon saw a figure running through the lobby, evading the swipes of the apex predator that pursued him. It was absolute chaos, terminals and large chunks of concrete flung about the area.

The screaming of the panicked man was dulled out by a thunderous and ear piercing screech that broke glass and knocked the poor man down. Emil was not exempt from the effects of the roar and felt the force produced by the roar push him further into the wall. There was one final desperate scream and a sickening crack. Emil made the mistake of entertaining his curiosity and was met with a gruesome sight, the beast had taken the life of the mercenary with almost excessive force as there was little that remained of the man's head but a dark crimson smear upon the cratered pavement beneath the massive claw of the beast. It began to click, but not like the clicks produced earlier. It seemed much softer and varied in pitch and range as it clicked to whatever was on the surface, most likely more of it's kind. Emil had a disheartening realization regarding the deathclaw like beast and it's possible behaviors. 'Christ above...The beasts are smart enough to communicate. It's more than likely that they're smart enough to plan attacks and set up traps and ambushes.' It soon left the lobby and with it the body of the recently diseased mercenary.

Once he was sure that the beast was long gone Emil finally takes in a deep and almost desperate breath of air before slumping down on the floor of the lobby. He pats the back of his head a couple times before hearing someone asking if everyone was fine or injured in any way. Emil inspects his suit for any breaches or tears, he lets out a sigh of relief as there were no breaches to the suit. "I'm fine. No suit breaches here. Jesus Christ that was scary." Emil finishes with an uneasy chuckle. It was not the most appropriate reaction to a near death experience but it helped him deal with his frayed nerves. He then heard the paladin's orders as well as her comment regarding unnecessary risks in the near future. "Sure thing boss lady. Also. I'm not sure if I'm right, but those things were 'talking' with one another and I think it would be safe to assume that the'd be smart enough to coordinate attacks or even ambushes. Scary I know but its a big possibility that they can." Emil states over the radio before standing up and scavenging what he can to make a cover for the acid rain, monsters or no the rain still posed a threat to the radiation suits.


Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by ASDAValueMilk
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ASDAValueMilk

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Monika sat under the desk as tightly as she could. Still clutching her rifle she thought about praying for safety, but what God would take her after some of the things she's done. The tension in the room was like nothing she'd felt before. She doubted if even her machete could cut through it, but on top of that. There was the deafening silence, Interrupted intermittently by the deafening clicks and the thudding footsteps of the creature.

Then a clattering, like a stone being thrown against the tiled floor and off down the stairs. Followed by a very alarming cry over the radio. "Fuck this" a voice she hadn't heard before came over the radio. Then she heard someone start running. She peaked her head out over the top of the counter to see someone running off. After a moment the creature went after him. Not paying any attention and being purely focused on the Idiot who tried to run, she nearly lost her head as the creature's wing flew past her. Monika fell backwards as the monitors from the desk came smashing down around her and the creature let out a roar that shook the ground around it and would put a Deathclaw to shame. Then the creature stopped, the deafening silence had returned. Only to be shattered seconds later by a loud crack, like bones being crushed, Monika gagged. The guy may have been an idiot but no one deserves to go like that. Well, some people, or rather someone. She thought to herself.

She didn't dare move again, quite literally frozen out of a mix of fear and disgust at what the creature did and how the fool died. The loud thudding footsteps came past again and ascended up the stairs. There was a long pause. No one moved, no one made a sound. Then Khaliya came over the radio "They're gone." "Everyone to the top of the stairs, and let's try this again. Stick together." "Low and slow, watch the shadows and the skies. Let's not take any more unnecessary risks."

Monika stood up and picked her rifle up from the floor. Everything she had ever been afraid of, every nightmare she endures. They had all just been shattered. If something like that and the other beast that Emil described earlier can survive in this city. What else could be out there waiting to tear chunks out of the group? She moved out from behind the counter and watched as one of the mercs turned and went to the red pool that was once a group member. He knelt down and placed what looked like a small silver coin in the pool of blood. She looked at him puzzled as he walked back past her, the "formation" the group had, had was all but gone now. It was survival now until they get to the bank. She filed in behind him still confused as to why he would do something like that. Then it all became clear when he spoke. "Ita, Imperatrix."

It all made sense now she knew who was in front of her. He was honouring the idiots passing. "Great." she thought to herself. She's traded being close to one monster for another. It must have been a denarius that he placed in the blood. Monika's grip on her rifles grip tightened. She hadn't been this close to legion scum in a long time. It could be so easy, an "accidental" weapon discharge. A "slip" of her finger and another part of her perpetual nightmare would be gone. But she couldn't, the group were no fools. Well, maybe the Talon company ones were. But the rest were certainly not, she loosened her grip and settled for hopefully burning a hole in the back of his head with a glare as they all moved to the top of the stairs.

Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Dread
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Dread On the sunny side / of the street

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Frankie Cabrera


[ One Year Ago. ] ----------------------

“He hurt you, Frankie.” The older boy -by just a few months- said, doing his best to assist the young medic who was already wrist-deep in blood. “So why bother even pulling that bullet out of him?.” The kid shook his head, his hushed voice seemingly cold as he held a bloodied scalpel that was just used to slice a small incision into the unconscious patient. “Just let him die and be done with it!”

“Shhh!” The other intervened, realizing that one of the raider guards posted just outside the small impromptu infirmary would have probably heard the boy’s comments. “Just pay attention to the task.” Frankie whispered, calm and cool, while continuing to maintain focus on removing pieces of a bullet casing from the torso of the large man laying unmoving on the table. “I don’t need anymore flack from these jerks than what I've already had to experience in the last few months of being in this hell hole, okay?”

“Fine.” The other protested. “But if I had the opportunity to just let one of these low lifes bleed out, I'd take it.”

“Which is why I'm here and you're there, Sammie.” The girl said with a smirk, trying to ease the tension in the air, before dropping the last few pieces of metal fragments into a small container before cleaning around the wound to stitch it up.“ Besides, how would exacting revenge on one of these monsters make me any different than them? How could I ever consider myself a medical professional if I can't bring myself to heal everyone?”

The boy opened his mouth as though he were about to say something, but immediately froze as the patient grunted and began to come around from whatever lackluster anesthetic was administered to him earlier. Just like everything else in the encampment, medical supplies were becoming scarce.

“Hey big guy.” Frankie said in a smooth tone, glancing over at the bearded face of the muscular tanned-skin raider as he blinked his eyes a few times. She could feel his body tensing, wanting to sit up. “I need you to keep still for a few more minutes. Can you do that for me?”

“Where am I?” The man grumbled, raising a hand to the substantial black and blue welt on his forehead.

“You're home.” The medic said with a grin and a sigh. “For what’s it’s worth anyway.” She shrugged, pulling the needle and thread from her medical bag. “Anyway, I applied some topical anesthesia, so it’ll numb the area a bit while I patch you up, but I’ll need you to stop squirming.”

The raider saw the needle and his eyes widened for a moment before switching his attention to the boy who was standing nervously on the other side of Frankie still holding the scalpel as though he was almost ready to use it against the madman. “You know you might learn a thing or two from this little girl.” He let out a guttural chuckle before feeling the slap of a hand against his bare chest.

“Stop moving or this is gonna take way longer than it needs.” Frankie hissed, continuing to penetrate the skin and fish the thread through slowly.

“Sorry…” The large man mumbled, staring back over at the boy and narrowing his eyes.

A few moments of silence passed until the patient once again spoke up, allowing a deep breath to release beforehand. “And...Thank you.” He grunted. “I know I was a prick earlier.” His eyes grazed over the bruise on the side of Frankie’s face, a bruise he’d given to her out of purely uncontrolled rage. “There was no reason for the-”

“It’s fine.” The medic said flatly, working half way through the two-inch wound, her mind keeping laser-focused, if for no other reason, to keep from jabbing the raider in the eye with a knife. “I do what I need to do. Just like everyone here.”

“You were right, too” The man continued, laying as still as he could while staring up at the ceiling. “Revenge makes us all monsters.”

Frankie smirked and the boy next to her gasped in surprise as he realized that the man was apparently not completely unconscious during the earlier exchange of words. “Wha…?”

“Yeah, that’s right. I heard what you said, boy.” The man said in a low growl, still maintaining his attention on the ceiling. “And she’s got a bigger set of balls on her than you would any day, that’s for damn sure.”

“Please shut up. Both of you.” Frankie shook her head as she wiped some sweat from her brow and continued the delicate work of stitching up her patient.

[ Present Day. ] ----------------------

To say she was terrified of the deathclaws would be an understatement, but to admit to it wouldn’t really help anyone else in the group feel better. So she kept her wits about, realizing that she’d been in worse predicaments where her life would be forfeit at the drop of a hat. It seemed that enough time living in the wasteland reminded a person that life was more precious -or perhaps not, from a certain perspective- than anything else on the planet, but sometimes Frankie felt helpless to be of any use. A bystander in a bloody war, sitting on the sidelines waiting for each soldier to fall victim to whatever was being thrown at them.

It sucked, to say the least, however, what else was she to do but to wait and hope that she could live long enough to be of some use?

The shriek that the dragon-like creature released was deafening, and had enough force to tip her off her kneeling position for a moment, catching the back wall before being totally off balance. She stayed close to Marvin though, knowing that at least he would have a better chance against the beast than she, and no doubt living as long as the ghoul did taught him some better life lessons. One thing was for sure, that she had to keep whatever fear was welling up on the back burner until the threat had passed, or they were all dead and it didn’t matter. And then, it was the Talon member who decided to charged the beast, weaving and ducking in frustration but sadly, in vain, as Frankie watched in horror while the deathclaw crushed the man’s feeble body into the floor, ending his life sooner than later.

“Lucky him.” She whispered, realizing that a quick death was a merciful one considering what followed, as the corpse was but a ragdoll now in the hands of a demented child, thrown up to the stairway toward the other deathclaws that decided they too wanted in on the action before eventually leaving the scene with their very dead trophy.

Frankie nodded her head, acknowledging Marvin’s silent question, as she stood to her feet and took a moment to compose her thoughts again by closing her eyes and refocusing, slowing her heart rate with quick breathing exercises that seemed to kick in reflexively. That had been one of the closer encounters she could definitely add to her list of “Strange and Unusual Creatures of the Wasteland”.

“Those of you wearing the rad suits, do a quick check to ensure there are no breaches.” She said, examining her own suit. “Especially after that bizarre sonic blast.”
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by HamakazeKai
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HamakazeKai Grumpy Pallas Cat

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Bailey slowly crawls out from under the desk and gently climbs to her feet being careful not to make any unnecessary noise, She steps lightly as she walks towards the stairs. She takes care to avoid stepping on any debris or human remains from the beast's victims.
She looks down at the pool of blood and remains on the floor and winces remembering the cracking sound from his helmet.

"Clean up on Aisle three..."

Bailey takes up a position at the top of the stairs within easy reach of some concealment and looks towards the skies waiting for the groups next move.

Hidden 6 yrs ago 6 yrs ago Post by Lord Wyron
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Lord Wyron Reclusive Giant Lord

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John Delaware

[ New York City Metro - Blue Line ]

Ears ringing, dazed, noise bored deep into his skull. The monster had taken its prize and flown off with its brethren, leaving only the wake of its carnage as proof it had been there at all. The creature had torn through the lobby with the careless abandon of a child, albeit a child with the size and strength to level a small town. John was disoriented, unsure if his ears were bleeding or if that damned ringing would ever stop. He'd grown accustomed to the sound of gunfire and explosives, but that roar was unlike anything he had ever heard. It was some joke of evolution, he supposed, that a monster of such power needed even more in its arsenal than its sheer state of being.

There was no love lost felt between John and the Talon mercenary the beast claimed as prey. The fool had put them all at risk from a bad case of nerves. If he'd kept his mouth shut and his wits about him, he'd be with them still, not tossed around like a dog's chew-toy. Still, John was aware of the callousness in which he regarded the departed. Sometime years ago, this would have troubled him; after all, empathy was what distinguished men from animals, right? But empathy was counterproductive, and John had killed far more men with sadder stories than that.

The strange mercenary speaking his strange language approached the puddle of blood and viscera that served as the mercenary's memorial, kneeling down before it. He took something from his pocket and laid it atop the grisly scene - that piqued John's interest. Waiting for the man to stand and leave, John approached in turn, uncaring if the mercenary saw him or not.

With a single gloved hand, John picked up the silver coin, examining it front-and-back. He had no justification other than his own curiosity, but that was enough for him.

'Caesar Dictator. Magnum Chasa.' John repeated the words in his mind, trying to associate them with something. The language was obviously Pre-War, that much was apparent. Though John had rarely heard anything other than English in his travels, the words looked similar to inscriptions he'd seen on Pre-War government buildings: courthouses, schools, the like.

Of course, the words "Caesar Dictator" were English enough to understand. The imagery on the coin was eerily similar to Pre-War money John had seen scattered around the Commonwealth. Whether this was a recreation of the Old World or something even older, John didn't know, nor did he have that much interest in finding out. Snippets of history like that were unimportant in the grand scheme of things. No one cares about the history of a coin unless you can buy or make something with it.

Taking a moment to wipe away the blood with his thumb, John let the coin catch itself in the light a moment more before he nonchalantly stored it in his satchel. It was unique, something the detective had never seen before, and he would find more value in it than a puddle of blood on the floor. Not like the fool would need it now. John couldn't help but smirk cruelly at the thought of a Talon grunt raising themselves from the dead just for one last cap. He wouldn't put the idea too far past them.

While the rest of the group was recuperating from their near-death encounter, John found some sort of solace in Marvin's almost-annoyed grumble. He supposed the two of them were old spirits, their centuries difference in age notwithstanding. But old spirits needed something youthful to give them purpose, and John had it figured that that was Frankie's role in all this. After all this time, he could barely remember what he was like at her age. Far less jaded, that much was certain.

As long as he could remember he had always wanted to be an investigator. The late-night weekends of his youth spent listening to radio shows: exciting gunfights, confounding mysteries, dashing heroics - it was everything a young boy could want. It's what John wanted to do, to be.

That same mysteriousness, the allure of the noir aesthetic, John remembered seeing it in his father as well. Richard Delaware was the Old World come back to life: handsome, well-groomed, almost never seen without his suit-and-hat. His past was as enigmatic as the way he expressed himself, even to his own family. There was always that sense of disconnect, the feeling that John never really knew his father. John inherited Richard's talent for observing people, but never grasped his father's gift of gab. A charismatic smooth-talker who combined a professional-yet-easygoing demeanor with a dashing smile, Richard may-as-well have been the settlement's official representative. It was him who would speak to the roving traders and caravans that stopped by their little town, telling them all they wanted to hear and more.

It seemed that no matter who Richard spoke to, there was a sense that he knew all of their strengths and weaknesses right off the bat, and adapted his tact to take advantage of it. It was talent, no doubt about it. But John couldn't help but wonder sometimes if his father was even genuine with him, or was simply putting on whatever face worked on him the best.

'Wonder what he'd think of me now...' John let the idea hang bitterly in his mind as a conclusion to his thoughts. No matter how much he tried to avoid it, he could imagine it perfectly. Richard never shouted, never raised his hand against his wife or son, never threw or smashed things. His anger, his disappointment was always expressed by a look. It wasn't even a glare, no, just a narrow-eyed look in your direction that said all the worst things you wanted to hear, to feel. Whenever John got into trouble as a boy, there would be that look, piercing into his very soul, lasting for what felt like entirely. Then there would be some declaration: "No radio for a week," something like that. Then Richard would walk away, and it would be over.

And there he was, thinking again, even after he told himself he was finished. John scoffed to himself at his own lack of discipline. Was he that narcissistic to enjoy hearing his own thoughts? Maybe so.

With a quick pat-down to ensure his suit wasn't compromised, John took up near the rear to follow the rest of the group up the stairs, daring one last look back at the crimson puddle, missing its silver gleam. Was that guilt in his mind that he had taken it? No. Couldn't be.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by ONL
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ONL Occasional Private Dick

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Brian "Short-Fuse" Muller


The butt-ugly naked-winged mole rat got quickly to work on hunting down that lone Talon merc down the tunnel, quickly silencing the idiot who thought it was a good idea to run away. Running away was stupid, unless said "running away" was to trap something in a tunnel packed with explosives. And Brian hadn't tried to run away earlier, just forward. But as the mole-rat crow-thingy disappeared in the silent distance, Brian got the message from Khaliya. "...Yes ma'am." It was no fun, and he wasn't doing it because she told him (maybe?). But the power armoured hug was still painful.

Short-Fuse put away the stick of dynamite and grasped his shotgun with both hands again. He looked over to the Roman fella asking if anyone else was hurt. Except for his sense of fun? "Nah, Julius, I'm fine. But thanks for asking." Short-Fuse said to Servius, before turning his attention to Marvin the Ghoul. "Let's see, what would beat naked ugly-ass molerats with wings? Laserbeam molerats with C4? Buffalos or robot coyotes from space maybe. We'll find out." He continued to speak as he too checked his suit, not finding any breaches, which was good. Suffication and/or radiation poisoning was never a fun thing to experience. He knew. Making his way up the stairs alongside the others, Brian felt once again excited to go up. "Next floor: Acid Central, watch the step."
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Alfhedil
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Alfhedil What do you see Kaneda?

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Talon Leader "Prism"


December 3rd, 2286
The Surface


Discipline or fear had rooted everyone to their own small corner of the subway station, the beast before them one of the terrors of the wasteland only whispered in the safety of a settlement or far from the rad-soaked wilds. As debris went flying, peppering some with rock and trash, Prism was cursing under her breath. The man ducking and weaving was one of her own, she had recognized his voice even in panic over the radio. While he had never been one to bolt in the face of combat before, clearly everyone had a limit and he had reached his. A sudden swing of the creature's tail sent her ducking to avoid decapitation. Instead yet more tiling was rent from the wall and followed up with a terminal lifted from its anchoring to smash against another. In all her life of being a mercenary of the wastes, and in one of the more dangerous regions at that, she had never before seen anything like this. It was vicious and relentless, where most creatures had adapted to hit and run tactics, it furiously pursued her comrade.

She was about to call out to him when it ended with a crack and his death. For a moment she was stunned, feeling as if she had been punched in the chest at just how sudden it was. Only when the creature was gone did she let out a shuddering exhale, slowly sliding down against the wall and just staring out at where one of her people had been. True, he had never been a "friend" in any sense of the word, and had to be convinced through a share of the loot in order to come along… But he was someone she had known. It left her shaking, though for all anyone could tell in the bulky radiation suit she was simply sitting there like a few others had been after that sonic blast.

The medic speaking was what snapped her out of it, watching as the other paladin of the Brotherhood began ascending the stairs along with the others. Of all of them, only one bothered to show their respects, the foreigner from out west. At least, she assumed as much due to his accent and mannerisms. He struck her as one of those Legionnaires who had broken rank, though for what reason she couldn't tell, much less if it was true. Still, he placed a coin on the ground where her comrade had fallen and began to make his way up. She was right behind, coming up alongside and making a gesture with her hand to get his attention.

"I appreciate what you did, he was one of my people and was only here because I convinced him the trip would be worth it." Speaking through the glass of her helmet, she had to raise her voice a little, the east coast accent clear as well as some minor inflections that were somewhat out of place. "Robert was… Well, one shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but I'll just say he didn't deserve to go out that way. It's frustrating that we couldn't do anything, but I know if we attacked even as one, that abomination would likely be feasting on all of us."

Just ahead Jeremiah turned, his armor at a slant as he paused near the top of the stairs and the acid rain poured from him. "It was the right call, though I don't think it sits well with any of us." That was all he said, giving a slight inclination of his helmet towards the both of them before continuing on. So soon into the city and having lost a member, it felt wrong, at least to her. Prism couldn't help but feel it was an omen of sorts, though she tried not to think in such superstitious ways…

---

At the top they gathered, rain hissing as it cleaned off some of the tunnel debris and the dust from the minor skirmish down below. It had let up from the downpour of a moment ago, but not by much and certainly not in the acidic potency. All around them were the abandoned buildings of upper Manhattan, residences and commercial spaces left exactly as they were the day the bombs dropped. No vehicles sat on the streets, not within immediate sight and the reason was looming behind them. Inside the Necropolis they could see the makeup of the wall a little more clearly than before. Each vehicle had been placed deliberately in the spot it occupied, welded to the ones above and below, as well as to either side. Great beams of steel rose from the bottom where they were impaled into the street and all the way to the top, an eerie blue glow emanating from each.

More at odds with how the exterior had been, even just a glance showed that their spacing was incredibly precise. Each space between the beams was the same. No matter how many vehicles had been collected from the streets, somehow all of them had been fit together to make one continuous path along the top. It was strange to say the least, and caught the attention of Jeremiah and Prism both as they turned to marvel at it.

"It's not meant to keep things out…"

It was Prism who spoke, an uneasy feeling in her gut as she stared over every detail, the city around them tuned out as she took a step towards the wall. No matter that it was perhaps a mile or so down the street, there was already a faint ring in her ears. The same tone except diluted across so long a distance, rain and absorbed into the surrounding buildings. With a slow and deliberate motion, she unholstered her pistol, training it towards the horizon and lifting it up towards the top of the wall. Jeremiah saw what she was doing and as he started to move, so too did Khaliya.

"No! Stop!"

This time she was too slow. Prism tensed her finger on the trigger even as Khaliya took a step towards her, the crack of her pistol ringing out across the street and then drowned out by another. It came with a flash across the sky, one brilliant above the wall where the mercenary leader had been aiming, and spreading in four directions from it as if the bullet had been a drop on a flat plane of water. Blue ripples went out across to the east and west of the impact, eventually fading into nothingness, and the lights atop the beams flared an angry red for just a moment, electricity arcing towards the bottom until once more everything was calm.

Calm enough as Khaliya and Jeremiah both looked to the skies, weapons in hand and alert for the beating of wings, but they never came. Instead their attention was suddenly drawn to new arrivals coming from the direction of the bank. Looming tall in a suit of battered power armor, the colors of the Lyon's Pride stood out on both pauldrons of the leader, one who had clearly seen combat and a lot of it over a short period of time. He was joined by two others, another in power armor and one in the gear of a scout. All three Brotherhood, and by the looks of them, a squad who had been inside the city for a long time. The gunshot had alerted them to the presence of the party, and though wary at first, Khaliya recognized the man at the fore, especially as he continued the thought Prism had left unfinished.

"It is meant to keep things in."
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Polaris North
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Polaris North How I Socially Interact

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M A R V I N H I L L E R

Marvin seemed to react somewhat when Mr. I-have-too-much-energy-for-my-own-good called their resident odd mercenary who lets out Latin phrases 'Julius'. Though it was more of a positive reaction - a smirk pulling up to his lips. While he didn't live during the Pre-War time, he did live through a time when the books haven't been seized by their respective groups. It was back when people weren't interested in things like that. And honestly, Marvin just happened upon some educational books - as well as some fiction books - back when they were still in the trading business. Before his parents died.

And Julius Caesar was a man he had read in passing. He was a leader of the Roman Empire from way before - Emperor, he was pretty sure their title was. Death by being stabbed multiple times by your 'friends' was such a way to go. He knew that there were those who followed the teachings and methods of the old Roman Empire, but he never really did have any open talks with them. At best, his interaction with them was exchanging bullets so that he could get out of dodge.

The ghoul adjusted his hold on his rifle, out of habit really, when Short-Fuse acknowledged his musings. Marvin still wasn't sure if he was pissed off at the guy or genuinely amused by him, but he responded. "Don't jinx us kiddo. If we ever encounter them, I'm blaming it on you." He said it in a good mannered fashion. Marvin would rather not show open hostility. There was enough of that with the others. So he figured he should go with the 'chill' route and just let things happen. They'll have to resolve tensions soon anyway, he shouldn't add on it.

He followed them up, stopping short of the area which was being pelted with acid rain. The hiss of acid against cement reached his ears and his mouth formed a thin line as he shifted unsurely in his spot. But nevertheless, he knew that they would need to get from cover to cover. Or at least, he did. He wasn't sure how much his own skin would fare against elongated amount of time under that. Marvin wondered if the hazmat suits could take more than normal skin. After a moment of looking at the rain, he turned to the others to ask for the next order but saw that they were entranced by the wall of vehicles.

And really, it was a sight to behold. Though, Marvin wasn't going to stay there and marvel at it. He wanted to get to cover soon, and not out there in the open where those winged lizards just made their kill. Who knows when they'll come back to look for more. The Talon leader spoke - describing the wall as something that doesn't keep things out. He turned to Prism and saw her move forward and raise her pistol. Marvin's arm jerked but didn't speak - their Paladins already moving and talking for all of them, conveying their thoughts. The sound of the gun going off was deafening for him and, like Khaliya and Jeremiah, he raised his rifle to the skies.

A beat. Two.

Nothing.

He sighed in relief but he saw the wall. Electricity. A field. Oh. Oh. And just as timely, other Power-Armored people came to their sights. Three hulking figures came into their view. And he could clearly see the crest. He knew those. "Well I'll be..." Marvin was not the best person to ask about the Brotherhood, but he knew the Lyon's Pride crest well enough. There wasn't a soul who didn't know about them back some years (had it already been a decade? Marvin wasn't sure) ago. Marvin had encountered them before - their leader had been agreeing enough to work with the mercenary back when they needed the help. 'Course, they didn't exactly know that he was a ghoul since he was wearing a gas mask and hid every single feature of his to make sure that he wouldn't be discovered. But at least it wasn't that bad.

"So this is where the Pride's been since Lyons passed..." Marvin muttered to himself, though it was loud enough to be picked up by his own teammates if they were close to him. Made sense for them to be thrown out to some wasteland since Lyons had a very different way of doing things than Maxson did. Marvin appreciated Lyons' ways. But hey, life goes on. People die. People are killed. That's just what happens sometimes and you just can't stop it. He cleared his throat as he looked at the others. "Are we gonna talk under this rain or can we get to some good shelter like - oh, I don't know - the bank?" He suggested, giving the small group of three a passing glance. He did not want to stay out here in the open and be interrogated.
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Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by darkwolf687
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darkwolf687

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Servius Curius Proculus Vespillo


Servius looked to Prism momentarily as she waved a hand to grab his attention, listening as she recounted the man's name, continuing to peer around as they moved further

"When a man dies with no due, it is said that his soul remains stranded on the wrong bank of the river of the afterlife, unable to pay for passage. Even if it is not true, it is bad form not to mark the passing of a dead man. Since any one of us might be im his place soon, it was slightly surprising nobody else bothered to pay respects." Servius commented regarding. He was somewhat pleased someone had appreciated the gesture, whether they would believe the reason for it or not. Perhaps he had misjudged these mercenaries, and they were not quite as faithless as he had suspected.

"I believe we could have killed it if needed. I have seen steeper odds. But many more of us would have perished, and we have a long way yet to go. It was a choice that had to be made."

"And he broke ranks, defied orders; He knew the risk when he ran, though his mind was clouded by fear. It could not have been placed on us to risk our mission for him after that. Had it found him by chance, perhaps we would have owed him such an effort." He gave her another look for a moment, she seemed pragmatic enough about this, and clearly had some experience. Though she was quick to point out that he was only here because she had convinced him to come, a curious thing; perhaps she felt some degree of responsibility for his death? It wasn't uncommon for those in positions of power to have to make such decisions, and though he knew little about the east coast, he had picked up from the rumour Mill along the way that the Talon Company had been all but annihilated a few years prior.

He knew what it was like to watch ones cause and faction crumble down around them, the sorts of decisions one had to make, whatever tier of officer they were it was a turbulent time... And he got the feeling that such decisions weighed on her more heavily than she let on, and this was far from the first time she had to trade one life for another.

"His death was not of your making, leaders are supposed to convince people to follow them into danger, and make the hard decisions for the good of the unit and their mission. Better one man than all of us."

He looked up to Jeremiah as he stood in the rain as he said his piece. Indeed. If it had sat well with them, well, they'd have been queer folk indeed...

Being reminded Talon company had seemingly managed to endure its catastrophe and maintain somewhat capable leaders, he did feel a small degree of homesickness. The Legion too was stabilising somewhat-- well, by that he meant that at least when he left, a victor was emerging. Who knew, perhaps by the time he returned, his intervention wouldn't even be needed. Although certain... Legions were not perfect, a stable government was better than none.

Of course, such a legion might just crucify him as a deserter or traitor. That was always a risk.

---

He regarded the inside of the wall with curiosity, running his eyes over all its features. This was a very elaborate set up, especially for somewhere which seemed to have few human inhabitants... He'd seen many walls in his time, but none as grand in size or technology as this. But what was its purpose? To keep outsiders like them out? To keep something else in? Something else entirely?

Servius heard Khaliya call out and spun from watching the side streets just in time to see Prism's gun go off, he looked up to the sky that was tinged with a blue field... And then with red, as it seemingly caught and destroyed the bullet.

It's like an oversized hound cage, only instead of mesh across the top, you have some sort of energy field. He thought to himself as he peered looked across the skies, bringing his weapon to bear as he scanned them for any beating wings of those blasted creatures. Nothing came from the sky though, but instead by land.

He spun quickly and raised his rifle to the appearing brotherhood men for a moment, but as he noticed them as bearing a similar allegiance to their group leader, he lowered it somewhat and narrowed his eyes beneath his visor, examining them each in turn. They wore brotherhood armour, but their leaderr had some unusual markings as well. Some east coast chapter, he supposed, that he hadn't encountered before. That was to be expected, he was far from his land. Still, that was enough to keep him cautious; So far their encounters in this city had not been good, but these didn't seem hostile.

"Avete, milite. Egó sum Servius Curius Proculus Vespillo. Quí estis vós?" Servius asked, suspecting that the brotherhood were more than capable of speaking Latin. After all, what kind of idiot would use a Latin motto if they didn't even know the language? That'd be almost as stupid as using a Spanish one without knowing Spanish...

Though come to think of it, he had encountered that before with one of the profligate troopers...
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John Delaware

[ The Surface ]

Something there is that doesn't love a wall. The phrase etched itself in John's mind but he couldn't place why. It was a poem, sounded like one, at least, from some Old World writer whose bones laid still and dead long before the world set itself on fire. He couldn't remember where he had heard it, whether from some random scrap of paper found in the Commonwealth, or maybe something older, more personal. Parent, maybe? John's father had never been one passionate for poetry, though the occasional line or two spoke to him in a way others could not. But his mother remembered the arts of the Old World: the songs, the writings. Perhaps human casualties weren't the only losses of the Great War. Something more than that, a culture.

What tales of woe could be written of their current situation, John wondered. Of the countless bodies that seemed to litter the Necropolis, how many were once like them? Hapless, desperate, craving the thrill of adventure.

But what prompted John's train of thought was seeing It firsthand: the Wall, a looming foundation of metal taken from the Necropolis, old vehicles and pillars of steel. Then the tone came back, that eldritch noise that followed them upon first entering the tunnels. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Talon Company leader draw her pistol, training it at the sky.

A crack of thunder, the resonating of bullet hitting...something else. A ripple of blue light that concentrated, then spread out across the horizon above. A force-field: a goddamn force-field

Anticipating the arrival of more of those flying beasts at any time, what John heard instead was the thunderous clanking of loud, metal footsteps on the cracked wet pavement, sounds shared by their Brotherhood associates: Power Armor. Three approached from the direction of the bank, all in Power Armor, all bearing the standard of the Brotherhood of Steel. The one in front bore a unique sigil different from his compatriots, the gears replaced by a roaring lion, not unlike those seen borne on the shields of medieval knights. His armor was worn and battered by exposure to battle, hissing slightly as droplets of acid rain rolled down oversized pauldrons.

Of the two he was flanked with: one was the largest man John had ever seen, a hulking form covered head-to-toe in Power Armor arguably more scarred than the first, though a much different model, older maybe. Reminding John more of a tank than a man, the only indication of life within the suit was the subtle rise of heavy shoulders signifying breathing, his expression the militaristic might of his helmet.

The third wore a suit of Power Armor that matched his behemoth of a comrade's, a cowboy hat comically perched atop the helmet in what John could only surmise as a Mojave metaphor standing before his eyes. Regardless of the brief amusement he felt, John noted immediately that these men, trapped or not, still possessed immense firepower. If there was one thing the Brotherhood could take a lesson in, it was subtlety.

Marvin's hushed note of "The Pride" spurned John back to attention. It was clear the Ghoul had experience with, or at least prior knowledge with this sect of the Brotherhood. John had heard of their ranks simply through experience, but never once did he hear anything about a 'Pride'. Given how many chapters the Brotherhood had, it was bound to be some sub-faction in one of them, John had neither the interest nor the resources needed to look into it.

The strange Mercenary who left the coin once more issued a...declaration? In his old language, directed towards the Brotherhood members before them. John wasn't sure what the merc was hoping for; multilingualism was about as rare as a pacifist Super Mutant, and just as unbelievable. Expecting the Brotherhood to speak anything but English was a stretch in John's mind, but given today's events alone, he decided now wasn't the time to judge what was reasonable or not.
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Brian "Short-Fuse" Muller


"Me, jinx it? Pfft, what do you take me for? That I'm from Arkansas or something? Don't worry, ya good ol' mummy." Brian said just as good mannered as Marvin had said to him, continuing their ascent up the stairs and into their unforseenable future. Well, it could have been foreseeable if SOMEONE had just let Short-Fuse go ahead and do some proper recon, ol' Texas Ranger style. Then again, said someone had also most likely saved his life, so he refrained from pointing that out. Instead he finally made it out into the acid rain of the surface, already missing the comforts of the metro. At least for a little while, until he too realized what Prism was doing. Not that he was going to stop her, but he'd prefer if he got a piece of the action as well.

What he did not expect was for the blue wall to swallow up Prism's bullet like it was bacon for breakfast on a Sunday. "Roll me in tar, throw me in a barrel of feathers and call me the King Hen, that's a wall." Short-Fuse piped in, lowering his shotgun and starting to fiddle with a certain explosive, just checking it was still intact. "How much you reckon I can blow that to Kingdom come, Marvin?" He continued, leaning in to Marvin to whisper to him.

It was then that the trio of Brotherhood folks appeared from the bank, and their Roman friend started speaking strange again. "Hey, why don' ya'll speak English? We have a bank to camp in!"
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"Shit!" Bailey looks up as the shot is fired into the air, She rushes forwards with fists clenched as if to clobber "Prism" as her boots crunch and crack on 200 years worth of shattered glass, stones and other pieces of detritus. Her face is visibly red with anger as she nears "Prism"

"You stupid Bi-" She's interrupted by the figures coming from the the direction of the bank, She drops to her knee and adopts a stable firing position as she aims her rifle at the three incoming people. She recognizes the Insignia on one of them as that of the "Lyons Pride" a former elite unit in the Brotherhood of Steel. Bailey curses under her breath and takes aim at their head looking for any excuse to try to kill them.

"Now we've got more Brotherhood? This is getting out of hand now." She maintains her aim on the unidentified newcomers waiting for them to explain themselves.
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Monika scoffed when she heard Prism thank Servius for honouring the death of her teammate. Talon company may have all the morality of a raider gang, but even they weren't as bad as the Legion in her eyes. Nobody and no group ever could be. And would Prism even be talking to him if she knew the true extent of what the Legion did to people out west? She knew how Prism felt, she'd lost dozens of comrades on operations over the last few years. Most she never knew outside of their name and where they were from, but they still died on her watch. That feeling would always resonate within her but even though she thought he had done her best there was always a niggling doubt that it was her fault people had died.

But she kept quiet, it was an odd position she found herself in, where the monster from her past was seen as a nice guy who was being kind to others in the group and she was seen as a mad woman who screams at thin air in a foreign language. If she tried anything now or before she had explained what the Legion was and the role Servius played in it, she would certainly either be killed herself or just left behind. She thought for a second as to whether some of the more alert members of the group like John had figured there was some sort of a connection between Servius and herself, but even if they hadn't it didn't matter. She was sure that soon enough everyone would know of her burning hatred for him.

She moved with the group to the top of the stairs. Glaring at the back of Servius' head the whole way. The stairs opened into what was surely a once grand city bustling with life. Now it was dead, free of any form of civilization. Monika noticed the rain hissing as it hit her suit. "200 years, 200 years and the rads still make the rain melt your face off." Monika trained her eyes onto a dark alley on the other side of the street, she couldn't see anything but it was best to stay as alert as possible. Her concentration was shattered by a gunshot. She spun around to see Prism aiming off into the distance. "Were you dropped on your head or something? Firing a gun when whatever the fuck just attacked us could still be lurking above us. Monika looked up, hoping that the monsters were far enough away or were too busy with the dead man to bother coming back.

She looked back down to see actual people coming towards them. As they closed in she could see as clear as day they were wearing Power Armour and bore the crest of the Brotherhood. Monika put her hand to her breast pocket where she kept the BoS holotags and gave a smirk. "Oh boy more Brotherhood, this is where the fun begins" she thought to herself as she clenched her hand around the pocket. She heard Servius speak to the three individuals who were approaching. She couldn't quite tell what he had said as her knowledge of Latin was mostly insults as she had devised what they meant to be after having them shouted at her year after year. She knew he had introduced himself since she heard him say his name, And from that, she suspected he was asking them their names. She clenched her rifle grip again and glared at him out of the corner of her eye and waited to see how the Brotherhood soldiers would respond.
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The young man scrounges through whatever the decrepit and dusty lobby of the subway station had to offer to him. Moving slightly further away from the main group to search for something large enough object to cover him from the acidic rain but also not encumber him significantly. Doing his best to avoid stepping on the skeletal remains of the new yorker commuters that littered the area out of respect and soon he found what he needed to create his protection from the rain. Venturing a little further into the unexplored areas of the lobby, Emil discovered what remained of a series wooden desks crushed under a single large support beam that he assumed fell off due to the bombs falling, age, or a combination of the two. Approaching the cluster of ruined desks closely, he discovers that one of larger desks had drawer box a drawer box big enough for him to hide under.

He was about to set down his pack and get his tool roll out and modify his improvised rain cover when he heard a gunshot emanate from the surface. "Jesus Christ!" He exclaimed as he visibly flinched at the unexpected sound and nearly dropping his pack. Without a second thought, he re secured his back pack on him and rushed to where the others had went. Assuming the worst, he sprinted faster than a bat out of hell; the combined weight of the wooden desk box, backpack, and equipment barely hindering his speed. Halfway up the stairs, he was expecting the sounds of weapons firing, screams of both man and monster, and general sounds of the chaos of combat produced...but the only sounds he heard were the sound of the acid rain and the sounds of his boots striking the tiles on his every footfall. In under 7 seconds, the young man had covered a distance of 50 meters over difficult terrain and was up along with the rest of the mercenary group. Seeing the lack of giant flying abominations and his companions still alive and breathing, Emil was thoroughly confused as to why was there a gunshot if they were still safe.

Rather upset that he was worried for nothing, he asks with an irate tone of his voice. "Who's the FUCKING genius who thought it was a brilliant idea to fire a gun while those flying deathclaws might still be hunting in the area?" His eyes aimed skyward as if waiting for the winged beasts to return as one of their companions had just rung the metaphorical dinner bell. He scanned as best as he could underneath the cover of the large wooden drawer box but no buzzing, wing flaps, nor thunderous clicking filled his ears. It was then he noticed that the rest of the group was not focused on the skies or him but rather on the group of three individuals that had approached in his absence. He could easily assume that they were brotherhood, or at the very least brotherhood affiliated, as the patterns and insignias were similar to the ones Khalia and Jeremiah had on their power armor. Unsure what to do about it, Emil simply kept quiet underneath his rain cover and hoped to God that the slight hissing he heard was from the acid rain hitting the wood rather than some godforsaken giant mutant snake thing hidden from sight.

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Armann Storstrand



The gunshot had interrupted their patrol of the area, just as the trio of gargoyles had taken their leave and headed back to their preferred hunting grounds. Armann for one had just about thought of indulging Maine's desire to take the fight to their enemies, but this gave the rag-tag squad yet another welcome distraction. "Stay sharp." His last command to the group before taking point and rounding the corner to the sight of a rather large group of people in hazmat suits and two in power armor. It wasn't the first of such groups they had come across, but they seemed different in that it was the first time he had seen one of them actually take a shot at the wall.

"It is meant to keep things in."

Easy enough to find the shared comm channel, and moreso to determine that the two accompanying them must have been the leaders of this ill-fated expedition. For a brief moment he considered extending a hand to what was clearly two more Brotherhood soldiers having ventured into the darkness of former New York, but as he started his eyes drifted lower and noticed the sword at the hip of the one at the front. Only one person he had known bore a sword like that, and the spear across their back as well as the faded insignias and carefully maintained armor only confirmed it.

"Swordwind."

"Star-Paladin Khaliya, if you will Paladin Storstrand."

Khaliya's response was terse and hard-edged, and from the relatively short distance between them he could see the narrowing of her eyes behind the lenses of her helmet. It was to be expected, their last discussion had not exactly ended on good terms. Jeremiah on the other hand seemed more than happy to have the company, coming forward and shaking his hand before taking turns with the other two.

"Paladin Storstrand, we didn't expect to see you. Elder Maxson said you and your squad were lost in battle not too long after you went out on patrol."

Others had gathered around them, hearing the entire exchange over the shared channel either because Khaliya chose not to switch to a private BoS one, or because she didn't care. At this point, he couldn't quite be sure which.

"I'm sure he did, unlike Khaliya I didn't simply heel to his orders. Suppose I should be thankful at least that we have another of the Pride here and the Swordwind no less. I wonder though, did you slip Maxson's leash and get assigned here as we did?"

Bold words spoken so openly, Prism and Jeremiah both took a step back for their own reasons. The Talon Leader as she had thought two survivors of the Raven Rock Incident might have a little more camaraderie than that, and him for knowing full well what would be coming after such a challenge. A couple others made their own comments, the Legionary trying to communicate in a language vaguely reminiscent of the Brotherhood's various mottos, while Marvin whispered aloud his own thoughts on this very opportune encounter.

"We're not here on Brotherhood business."

"Very well, we'll discuss that at The Bunker. As for you," Armann stared at Servius for a moment to indicate who he was speaking to, "I have no idea what you just said, so you'll have to try again once we're under shelter. For the rest of you, let's get moving and we can get settled and out of this accursed rain."

Her reply was terse but surprisingly not as hostile as he had expected. Regardless of how he wanted to counter in depth though, the others in her group were quite correct as the black rain was intensifying and already sheets were coming down around them. Armann gave a slight indication to follow, nodding to both Finn and Maine to take up flanking positions and for Jeremiah to take rearguard. Slowly they progressed up the empty street until the bank was there in sight, the outer walls fortified with what they could salvage and Finn could make work.

"Right, decon is right through these double doors. Do not proceed until the machine has finished. We try not to irradiate where we sleep."

And like that they were through. On the other side as they were misted and hit with the UV lights to scour their suits and armor to decontaminate them, a pair of doors opened to the bank proper. Warm lighting filled the interior, string lights for the most part that had been nailed into the walls at various points and the sound of a fusion generator in the basement powering everything before them. It had clearly been lived and worked in for some time, with a few bunk spaces made out for the three Brotherhood who had escorted them here, but others left empty. Not quite empty as Khaliya herself emerged from the decon room, parking her armor in a repair frame and pocketing the fusion core.

Four bunks had tags hanging from the posts, a box on each with belongings that spoke of a life lived and someone who wasn't coming back.

"Khaliya." Storstrand come up to her, nearly a foot taller but sharing the grim expression that she too wore as she saw the cost of their post. "Whenever they're ready, we'll have that talk."
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M A R V I N H I L L E R

Marvin stared at Short-Fuse with an incredulous look. However, he decided to humor the male and shrug. "A couple of warheads probably." He suggested. There was a small pause before he looked back at Short-Fuse with a glare. "But please for the love of anything good left in this world, don't do that." He continued as a warning. He'd rather not get into sticky situations because he suggested something to their bomb-happy companion. There were a lot of other better ways to go, after all. He'd rather not get eaten by one of those monstrosities.

He could hear multiple comments about the arrival of the Brotherhood. The Roman said something in Latin that Marvin didn't understand but seemed to have been expecting for the Brotherhood to know about it. The others were not so welcoming of these new arrivals. A lot seemed to hate the Brotherhood. Perhaps they could tolerate two, in the form of Khaliya and her husband and partner Jeremiah, but they didn't seem too keen on adding any more. But perhaps it was fate that drove them to meet here as the leader recognized Khaliya.

Storstrand? The name didn't ring a bell. Then again, he didn't really dwell too deep in the Brotherhood's mess; even that of the Lyons' Pride. It was too dangerous and who knows what would happen if went around, poking his nose into searching for names who might get himself killed. But the conversation between them was tense and it would seem that they had some bad blood between each other. Marvin kept a close eye on Storstrand, however, since he didn't want a fight to escalate and have Khaliya lose. She was the only one who took up the leader position, after all, and he'd rather not lose the one person who decided it was worth it to work with them as their leader.

But things were cooled down as they were going to be taken to the shelter.

Marvin happily followed them but kept his distance from the Brotherhood group. They were interesting, yes, but he'd rather not get on their bad side. Not with their Power Armor and the obvious tension that hung between Khaliya and Storstrand. As the bank came into view, he slowed down a bit. When the Paladin had gestured to explain the decontamination that would be happening, Marvin seemed to tighten his lips. He hadn't really gone through any decontamination equipment and he wondered if there were any adverse effects on a ghoul such as himself. Marvin moved forward to follow, pausing for a while to allow the decontamination to happen before proceeding inside.

He was still alive at least.

Marvin had been impressed that this place actually had electricity and comfortable beds. But he knew what those tags meant and he couldn't help but give them a nod of recognition despite only being there to remind these people from the losses of their friends. Marvin had just stayed at the lobby area, leaning his rifle down beside him. He had no need to take off his radiation suit since he didn't have any. The ghoul watched as the others came in. Once they were all inside, he began to speak.

"Well that was an exciting first day, don't you think?" He asked with a light chuckle. He turned to the two Brotherhood people who seemed to be free since Storstrand is going to interview Khaliya apparently. "So, what brought you guys here to this wonderful place?" He gestured around him and it is obvious that he was just joking about this being a wonderful place. But that didn't matter right now. "And do you have anything alcohol-based here? Story time is awlays best with cold beer and more friends."
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Servius Curius Proculus Vespillo


The conversation was tense, it seemed, between those who would at a glance have been close allies. That set him on edge; Were Brotherhood Knights usually so fractious? The way they spoke of Heeling to some elders commands made him suspect there might have been some kind of schism. Was there a Brotherhood civil war on the east coast he did not know about? It would not surprise him, truthfully; The Brotherhood had ever been stubborn and it was in that stubbornness that he frequently found foolishness. In the West, the Chapter the Legion had destroyed proved to be stubborn beyond all reason. Outnumbered often four or five to one, taken frequently be surprise and ambushed in the rocky valleys and mountains, the Brotherhood never properly adapted their tactics. They did not become swifter not more versatile nor more silent, but instead met them as though it was open warfare. By the end of the war, when the Legion had captured so much armour and equipment as to close the technological advantage gap quite sufficiently on that front, utilising missile launchers, high powered rifles and laser rifles against the Knights and Paladins, the Brotherhood had still rarely turned to subterfuge and instead still fought as though they had a significant advantage over the Legion. Their overreliance on their own technology came back to bite them, pulse grenades were highly effective against them and the Brotherhood clearly hadn't expected such weaponry; there were cases where the legion had been able to completely fry the circuitry in the BoS power armour and cause it to freeze up or cause the servos to be disabled at which point the BoS were relying entirely on their own strength to move, which had made them extremely easy prey in melee combat (the Legion would later encounter NCR heavy troopers who were equipped in Power Armour that had been stripped of its servos; these soldiers were likewise extremely easy targets in melee combat where their sluggish nature made them unable to fight effective. He would never understand what it was about profligates that made them want to rely so heavily on very specific things, it had led to their downfall time and time again while the Legion triumphed time and time again!) It had turned that campaign into a bloody massacre before the end, where the Brotherhood were overwhelmed and slaughtered by the legion almost entirely.

He recalled fighting there in the early days of his career. His first kill had been a raider woman, but his Second had been a Brotherhood Scribe of all things. He had fought alongside some of Caesars more veteran legionaries and it was something of his baptism by fire; subduing the Tribals in the region after the Brotherhood had been wiped out had been when he had truly proved himself worthy of a promotion- ironically, after making the same mistake the Brotherhood had made.

For the Brotherhood had been used to fighting mostly tribals and seizing advanced technology from them with ease. Unsurprisingly, low quality firearms, sticks, stones and rusted blades had proven completely ineffectual against their power armour and the Knights and Paladins had come to see themselves as near invincible. When they encountered the Legion, they saw them as little more than tribals and had expected an easy fight. It must have been a shock to them when the Legion proved not only an effective and well armed military force but a powerful enemy who claimed the area and pushed them from it in but a few short years. And when Servius helped to subdue the tribals of the region after this conflict, that was when he earned the agnomen of Vespillo, for he made the exact same mistake about some tribesmen that the Brotherhood had made about the legion; he had begun to see himself as far above them, for after having defeated the Brotherhood, how could some tribals with sticks and stones threaten him? He almost paid for that mistake with his life at the barrel of a gun, something he had never forgotten.

The Legions enemies, it seemed, did not learn so swiftly from the lessons they were dealt. The mistake of seeing the legion as little more than an army of ill-equipped tribals was a mistake made by almost all the Legions civilised enemies- and it was one Caesar had been all too happy to promote, for that mistake gave the Legion power. The machete and the sword, weapons which had become heavily recognisable to outsiders as part of the Legions armoury, were part of this very image; defeating NCR and even Brotherhood in melee made them seem like some crazed wild men who would charge machine guns with sticks. The NCR especially had their morale decimated by facing the legion, likely because the quality of their individual soldiers and their motivation was so poor.

The truth of their tactics was far more nuanced, obviously, and Servius had seen first hand the obscene stockpiles of weaponry and ammunition the legion had built up in its conquest... but the effect this mistake had on enemy morale was undeniable; Being fired upon by guns is all too common in the wastes, especially for soldiers, and forgotten quickly in retold stories of war. Being rushed by a bunch of screaming fanatics with swords, barely escaping with your life as your friends are hacked apart? That is a potent story, far more likely to be remembered by listeners when the battle is retold... even if gunfire was more common in the battle itself.

Once an enemy unit had been worn down and were few in number and ammunition, it wasn't uncommon for a Decanus to give an order to draw blades and charge. The sheer ferocity of such a charge of screaming warriors, the stories which one had heard about the efficiency of the Legion in melee and the unexpected nature of a melee charge would cause most soldiers to break ranks and try to rout almost immediately, and which point they were easily run down and hacked apart or shot dead as they broke cover by marksman who had held back in reserve. When used at a key point in a battle, this would allow these legionaries to then pour through and flank the enemy, pushing in with gun and sword and sowing chaos as the legion collapsed upon its foe- The trick, as Servius later learned, was always to leave one direction open for the enemy to flee. If the enemy thought they had an avenue that was clear, then either their courage would falter and they would end up in a panic stricken race towards it in the hopes of escaping the storm, or their officers would a tactical retreat that would likely break down into chaos in the hope to avoid facing the legion in tight melee. Either way, it would displace them from their positions and make them far easier to annihilate. He could recall many battles where the legion had been outnumbered, even, and if the enemy battalions could have but been turned around and stood their ground they would have won the day in a landslide- yet instead they fled, like sheep chased by dogs.

When the battle was told by the few survivors or onlookers, it would be heard as though the Legion had massacred their better equipped enemies with nothing more than old lawnmower blades. And then, they would be amazed by how 'slight' the resistance of the soldiers would have been, and the Legion would seem like an inexorable wild man horde. Which was, of course, exactly what they wanted everyone to think. Legion war was as much psychological warfare as physical fighting, involving complex stratagems that one didn't expect of tribals. They didn't mount their capture enemies on crosses for the fun of it, they didn't unleash mongrel dogs into the enemy lines because it looked cool; they did it because it spread fear. Their strategies were designed to win them the battle, yes, but the true genius of it all was the fear. It became the ultimate tool of the Legion.

The Brotherhood Chapter the NCR had fought on the west coast had many of the same problems from what he understood; their commanders were blinded by their hubris and arrogance in their superior technology and equipment, as well as their greed in seeking more of it, and they had held an inherently indefensible position against the NCR whom they expected to be unable to defeat their superior technology. With the BoS outnumbered even worse than the Brotherhood the Legion had faced, the NCR issued higher calibre weapons to their troopers and rangers and overran the brotherhood, destroying them nearly utterly but for a few survivors who had fled into the wastes... and even then, those survivors refused to recruit outsiders in spite of their imminent destruction. He wasn't sure, then, whether it would have been better if they had been overcome by fear and fled immediately into the wastes in panic than stood their ground against the NCR. The Brotherhood on the west coast, it seemed, were never let down by the rank and file, but rather betrayed by their leaders. It was a waste of life; standing your ground and following your orders to the end out of bravery is honourable, but it is on a commander to spend the lives of his men, not waste them. The Brotherhood, it seemed, lacked for good commanders but had no lack for good soldiers. And now, if this had caused a schism on the East Coast? Perhaps the Brotherhood was well and truly doomed from its failure to learn from its own history. Ironic.

But before long their exchange was done, and to his surprise the Brotherhood Paladin said that he didn't understand a word Servius had said. Bah! Then the Brotherhood may as well have written their mottos in jibberish if they couldn't even read them. Again, of course, he supposed he wasn't too surprised by the Brotherhoods hubris, nor by the fact that they didn't understand what they were even talking about. Many of the scribes captured in the West had barely known anything about their own history.

"They do not even speak the tongue, such arrogance to claim for themselves words they can not understand. Ad victoriam meos clunes." Servius scoffed and muttered near silently to himself so that few, if any, could hear him, shouldering his rifle as he followed after them. Babies babbled, blurted words they didn't understand. Men should know better; words carry weight because you understand them, using words you cannot understand is like hanging paintings as a blind man. Why then should the Brotherhood claim a motto in Latin, when they do not speak it? An absurdity of the highest magnitude.

**

He watched the machinery that the Brotherhood Decanus had referred to as 'decon' work with a wide eyed look; he'd not seen anything quite like this before. The chamber itself reminded him of one near the entrance to one of the Vaults he'd taken a contubernium too to scavenge from back in Colorado, but that hadn't been active (Indeed, not much in that place had been, even the lights were dead... and it seemed more like it was meant to be some kind of prison camp for its inhabitants than as a safe haven, the rooms were tiny and there were fences and guard posts everywhere. Some of the rooms even seemed dedicated explicitly to torture... Even by the standards of the legion, he would have felt like a prisoner in a camp like that)

Stepping into the bunker, Servius noted the hum of a reactor and the lighting that clung around them. It seemed cosy enough, as far as underground bunkers went. A little musky perhaps, but that is to be expected from underground and air tight facilities, given that they couldn't risk any contamination from that radiation stuff.

It was in this dim light that he first caught a sight of the holotags and belongings on the beds; he stepped over carefully and examined one of the holotags. He reached out and took it in his hand, moving it to look over it before letting it fall again with a light grunt. Requiescat in Pace. Had their lives been spent, he wondered, or wasted?

Then Servius turned and stepped off to the size, unzipping the hazmat suit carefully and stepping out of it with a heavy sigh, happy to be breathing air through his own nose rather than the mask again - which smelt horribly of plastic and rubber. He peered down at his creased tunic and straightened it out lightly. Out of the suit and bearing some of his uniform, though not all of it, Servius felt much more normal... Though without the trappings of his rank and culture, it still felt wrong. He felt naked.

Bah, by the hairs on Caesar's head, what was the point of going without.

He took his Cingulum militare from his backpack and fastened it around the waist, fixing his Pteruges into place. He wrapped his scarf around his neck again and brushed the sweat from his brow. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of one of the bedposts. There, that was better.

Servius unfastened the power armour from his shoulders and wrist, running a finger momentarily along the red X mark on it before laying it down carefully onto a counter and rolling his shoulders, glad to have taken the burden off. He took his helmet from his head and set it down, attaching the plume again and staring down at it for a few moments. Then he placed his rifle down alongside it, keeping his Sword by his side as ever as he turned to face the group.

He saw first that Khaliya had stepped out of her power armour and he examined her for a moment, then darted his eyes to the Paladin to whom she talked; he couldn't hear their words but body language alone let him know it wasn't particularly good, as did the expression Khaliya's face. That was troubling again, more trouble between the two of them? He hoped that it would not interfere with their mission.

With that, Servius went about directing his attention to the bizarre BoS soldier with the hat for a moment with some bemusement for several moments as he folded his arms over one another. It reminded him of the hats the NCR patrol rangers used to wear, he had heard them referred to by many names over the years. 'Cowboys' was one he had heard come up alot, and indeed there seemed to be a great fascination in the west with these 'cowboys' and their lifestyles. He had once come across a talking robot with one of the most obscene and outlandish accents ever, complete with flinging around 'pardner' and 'howdy' like it was a comma. Most of the westerns, thankfully, had not been that extreme with their accents. The softer accents some of them had were actually somewhat soothing, but there were a few with strong ones - and then there was always one or two who clearly wanted to become one of these 'cowboy' stereotypes, speaking with all the jargon and lingo and singing Big Iron and Jingle Jangle Jingle whenever they got the chance. It was quite amazing actually, he supposed, how many times he had heard those two songs sung or playing over the radio just by sneaking up on NCR camps and patrols, capturing them as prisoners or simply passing through neutral towns - and how many different stereotypes of the west he could find among them. Surely, one of these stereotypical exaggerating aspirants had not found their way so far east, and certainly none of them naturally emerged in the east- right?

Then Marvin spoke and interrupted his train of thought, and so Servius turned his attention to the ghoul, smirking a little. Exciting, eh? He supposed that was one way of putting it, it had certainly been quite the journey. Many creatures he had never encountered before had come out to play, what with those powerful flying monsters? They'd claimed the life of one of their own, which was certainly worrying... to have lost someone so soon into the journey was concerning, though perhaps not unforeseen; their intel going into this place seemed to be extremely limited, perhaps the Brotherhood would be capable of shedding more light on the matter- if they could get over whatever had driven a wedge between them, that is, which he wasn't too sure given the tone. Then again, they had led them to this place in the end after all, so perhaps all hope was not lost

"Yes, do tell us about your purpose in this place- and of it, you have been here longer, your knowledge of it will be more comprehensive." Servius said as he looked towards the BoS types, glancing to the cowboy hat that sat on one of their heads for a moment before looking back down to their helmets. T-51 power armour. By now he recognised it well, the eyes of that helmet gave him memories. Knight Girdeux had been wearing it when he managed to get the blade underneath it, at the junction between the head and the helmet he had forced it in with an almighty thrust- straight through the suit beneath, fitting between the frame and the helmet and piercing into her neck. He'd almost fallen then himself; not just in the fight with her, where a single powerful blow from her arms could have shattered his bones into dust, and where he ducked and weaved around her like a man possessed, his heart leaping into his throat. Indeed, there were many occasions where it seemed extremely close, but he had always been just about able to evade her knife... but when she fell as well; His hand snagged under her holotags after the blade was forced into her neck and as she fell over the side of the bridge, she almost took him with her.

Indeed, but for the holotag snapping and him fortuitously grabbing onto one of the old cables that hung from it, he'd have fallen into the deep and rocky waters below from which he doubted he would have emerged. He and a couple of recruits and headed down there afterwards to scavenge from it, and although they managed to get underwater they were unable to retrieve any of the pieces of her power armour from the lake; her laser weapon was retrieved from the bridge, though. Servius still carried her holotag now, partly as a trophy and partly in her honour.

She'd been a good fight, a very good fight, one from which he was extremely fortunate to have emerged from alive. She too had been the last of her unit who had foolishly tried to recover a cache of laser weapons from the Legion with relatively little ammunition and support of their own (and subsequently ran out during the firefight, as the Legion would later discover when they looted the corpses for weapons and armour) and still fought on until the very end bravely. She had destroyed a section of the bridge with a plasma grenade in a last ditch effort to kill the Contubernium pursuing, and although only one of their number had died, it caused a large chunk of the old bridge to crumble away into the water and left the legionaries dashing for safety. When the dust had settled, it left only Servius and a badly wounded Marcus on the bridge with her, the rest of the Contubernium on solid ground. Had she been able to kill Servius, she doubtlessly would have escaped to trouble the Legion another day. Although she was clearly junior in their ranks and had been let down by her commanders, she faced the Legion without fear, with great intelligent, ability, cunning and the traits of a natural warrior.

That was perhaps one of the many moments that had proven instrumental in giving him a respect of the Brotherhoods rank and file, even if he found some of the strategic and tactical decisions of their leaders and the Brotherhoods inflexibility completely baffling. Their rank and file had many of the attributes that made for a good army, but were too few in number and relied far too heavily on their equipment.

He had heard that the East Coast Brotherhood was more successful, clearly in spite of whatever schism he was detecting here. It was said they had greater numbers and a great flying fortress, as well as a small fleet of vertibirds. If this was true, and these Brotherhood proved to be as adept and skilled as the average rank and file of the West, then perhaps with the right leadership they would come to dominate the east coast completely. The quality was certainly there in the average Knight and Scribe he had encountered, and Khaliya seemed competent - though her argument with Jeremiah and now these newcomers was giving him the impression that perhaps things were not quite as well as they had first sounded. He had once heard a word or two about some kind of Brotherhood 'outcasts' on the rumour mill but it was very limited, he had assumed that they had vanished completely... but if a schism had developed and it had reached this point, then perhaps said outcasts were still active and this entire thing would be their downfall, just another sign of their ideological and dogmatic inflexibility and their poor choice in leaders.

He somewhat hoped not; from what he had seen so far of the east coast, it needed a powerful stabilising force. Perhaps for the East coast, the Brotherhood could provide it - though then again, they had historically proved extremely incapable at that too. The territory the Legion had taken from them had been poorly governed at best, overrun with tribals and raiders and the occasional civilised community regarded the BoS as little more than raiders who stole and hoarded advanced technology. That had always seemed to be their main goal and one of their key weaknesses; a complete greed for and over-reliance on advanced technologies. One day, perhaps the Legion would spread as far as the East Coast, and then perhaps proper law, order and civilisation could be established. Or perhaps the Brotherhood would come to their senses and make some real progress. Either way, it was sorely needed; Raiders, Tribals, Mutants and Gunners seemed to dominate almost everything for the past few hundred miles west, and the latter were effectively just the former with better gear.

Madness, all of it. It reminded him of the lawless and wild regions the Legion had conquered. Even the NCR would have been better for the East Coast than this anarchy.

Regardless of whatever their overall abilities, goals and decisions would ultimately be worth for this Eastern Coastline, here within this Necropolis he was glad of their presence. That military quality and bravery he had identified in the Brotherhood... it was good to have that on one's side when they were in the jaws of a city of the dead.
Hidden 5 yrs ago 5 yrs ago Post by Lord Wyron
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John Delaware

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@HamakazeKai @Polaris North
Though he seemed affixed to watching every move of their new Brotherhood associates, John couldn't help but turn his head to look at Marvin, who seemed to be making a new friend in their suicidal demolitionist. With a quirk of his brow that he lamented the Ghoul could not see, John was prepared to make a jabbing remark or two, but decided to stay his tongue given the present circumstances. Though no one else had fired a shot, John couldn't help but feel that the group wasn't totally out of the woods just yet. Part of him wanted to keep a hand near the grip of his revolver, but John knew that faced against Power Armor, his gun would be about as effective as flinging a rubber band at it.

Most surprising to him was Bailey's outburst of emotion. She spoke more in those few seconds than John had heard for most of their journey, though his brief astonishment turned once more to indignation as she immediately took aim for their heads. "You mind putting that away before you get us killed?" He growled, daring to say more. As it was, half the group seemed either suicidally idiotic, or idiotically suicidal. Christ, if there was even a half-bottle of scotch left around somewhere, John would thank whatever indifferent deity was up there.

The silence from the Brotherhood golems was finally broken as one spoke over their shared comm channel. It was an older voice, presumably belonging to the one with the unique sigil on his armor. However long they've been here, they seemed to have at least working knowledge of the Wall's true purpose. It all seemed to be getting out of hands, plans unfolding within plans. Course, John shouldn't have expected anything less from the Institute, the Brotherhood, whoever else was involved.

Another moment passed, the first one spoke again, this time recognizing Khaliya by her title, one she quickly corrected to her formal rank. In stark contrast, Jeremiah seemed all-but-jovial to see a familiar presence, shaking each of their hands as if they were old chums.

The tension did not fade, however. Whatever shared history there was between Khaliya and this Paladin Storstrand, it wasn't pleasant. There were a lot of names thrown around: Elder Maxson; the Pride, once more; it all seeped with suppressed aggression.

Paladin Storstrand's curt dismissal of Servius' overblown greeting prompted a choked laugh from John. The mercenary, on the other hand, was far less amused, muttering something about 'arrogance' that John could only hear half of, finished with another foreign sentence. He bit his tongue again, resisting the urge to tear the man down. To John, there was no moral superiority for speaking some dead language. It had no place in the Wasteland, outside whatever tribe or settlement he came from.

As the group soon fell back into formation, the two on either side of Storstrand took flanking positions, neither of them speaking just yet. Discipline? Training? Or did no man truly breathe under those metal suits? As they all approached the bank, John couldn't help but take in the obvious fortifications made to strengthen the outer structure. It was impressive, given the scarcity of resources. Inside was a working UV decontamination system, something John had never seen before -- or even assumed existed anywhere outside the Institute or Enclave, maybe. Now feeling clean for the first time in hours, John almost enthusiastically tore off the hazmat suit, finally letting fresh, unfiltered air enter his lungs, ease of movement greet his muscles. He could've cheered. Instead, he chose to express his contentment by cracking the stiff joints in his neck and fingers. It'll cause arthritis, his mother used to scold him. At the rate his body seemed to be taking punishment, he invited it to try. With a meticulous brushing off of his shoulders and a straightening of his hat, John finally felt like himself again, holstering the Blaster at its proper place at his hip.

Inside the bunker proper was a modest, if genuine attempt at creating a home. Lit with a warm glow by various string lights powered by a downstairs generator, three bunk spaces made for each of the Brotherhood soldiers, and four more left empty, memorialized with lone holotags.

Armann, Finn, Maine were the three still-occupied bunks. The four empty ones were marked Alexandria, Thomas, Ruben, Girard. John couldn't deny a brief, if noticeable feeling of pity at the sight. Four lost, three barely clinging on, trying to carve out a home in the depths of hell, may as well be their tomb. Would someone find this bunker in 200 more years? See the holotags, maybe a journal entry or two left behind? An echo of the Brotherhood presence John was seeing with his own two eyes.

To appease his own curiosity, John forward and took each of the holotags in hand, examining them closer, reading off the listed information for no other reason than simply general interest. Detective's habit, he supposed.

Soon returning to the rest of the group scattered around the bunker, John let his shoulders relax as this seemed to be the safest place in the Necropolis for now. Marvin took lead of the conversation this time, asking their newfound associates what brought them to...was it the Necropolis or the bank? John supposed both could make for at least interesting tales.

Upon mention of alcohol, John couldn't help but agree with a slight raise of his hand and a firm "I second that." Under normal circumstances, he'd have avoided drawing much attention to himself, but the circumstances here were no longer normal, and he was too tired and too sober to care.
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To describe the tone of the conversation between the two Paladins as uneasy would have been the biggest understatement of the century, the two clearly had some sort of history and from what Monika could hear, it wasn't exactly one filled with joy and friendship. And here she thought the Brotherhood all got along like one big happy family. The group she had encountered at the university seems to have such cohesion, they knew each other's actions before they even made them. But maybe that was the exception rather than the rule she thought to herself.

She followed closely behind Servius all the way to the bank, honestly, she was surprised he hadn't asked her to back off a little but maybe he didn't suspect that she had it in for him. He'd be a fool if he didn't, every time he opened his mouth her body language changed for the worse, she might have kept her mouth shut, but her hands and the subtle movements did all the talking for her. The walk to the bank that had been fortified by the Brotherhood soldiers. The hum of machinery filled the room as she took off her helmet and proceeded to unzip her radiation suit. She let out a sigh of relief as she released her hair from its tie and proceeded to check the patchwork tape on her suit to make sure it was still covering the hole. She had tried her best to keep that incident out of her head, but she knew someone was bound to ask. The only thing she wondered about was whether whoever asked would be tactful with their question or not.

Then she saw him, she was sure now. The skirt, the armour even without its markings. It was him, she had no bad memories of him specifically, their interactions were usually brief and he would be one of the few who actually said thank you as she would serve food or drink whenever his unit would visit the camp. And even though he seemed to be a real diamond in the rough when it came to the Legion even once witnessing him stop a legionary from attacking another slave girl, he was still guilty by association in her mind, there was very little a Legionary could ever do to warrant continued living while she was around. She suffered for five years at the hands of some of the most depraved animals imaginable, and she'd be dammed if she was gonna let a single one of them go without paying for the horrific things that happened to her.

She had never actually seen a decontamination machine before let alone used one, never really had to use one anyway. Herself and everyone around her was already radiated, it was just part of being born in the wasteland. But She thought the Paladin was right, better to limit the radiation. Stepping out and picking her gear back up she moved into the main sleeping area, there was a multitude of bunk beds three of were clearly still lived in but four of them were eerily quiet. made properly and cleanly maintained, but with a fine layer of dust resting on the blanket. A sad sight to be sure, these men looked like they'd seen things that would make her demons cower in fear and to go through it with fewer and fewer allies as the days went on surely weighed heavily on the minds of the team. She watched as Servius and... John, she was sure she heard the name John back at the subway station, looked at the holotags hanging from the bunks. Feeling curious herself she too went to investigate, even pay some form of respect, She moved along inspecting the tags. Alexandria, Thomas, Ruben, Girard Nothing caught her eye at first until she looked closer at Thomas's tag, she'd seen the last name somewhere before but couldn't remember, then it hit her. She reached into her shirt pocket and lifted out the Brotherhood holotags, keeping them close to her person so no one else specifically the Brotherhood soldiers could see what she had. She flipped the Paladin tag over, nothing. She flipped the knight tag over and there it was, same last name. Possibly a relative, if she remembered rightly the knight was a male at least his cries of pain sounded male, a brother, son or even father possibly. or maybe no relation whatsoever, she didn't know. Putting the Paladin tag back in her shirt pocket she hung the knight tag on the hook same hook that Thomas's was on, she felt it was a fitting gesture. She had no need for the tags really, she just kept them as a reminder that the Brotherhood weren't the saviours they claimed to be. But the knight at least deserved to be put to rest and remembered by his comrades in a fitting way.

As she turned to walk away she noticed that Servius was standing facing the rest of the group, she knew she couldn't off him yet especially not here. But she could at least let him know he wasn't in her good books, to say the least. She picked her gear back up and walked past him, quite forcefully bumping into him with her shoulder and giving him quite a deathly glare. If looks could have killed his brains would have plastered the wall behind him. before putting her gear down against the wall and unrolling her bedroll to sit down on. She went to light up a cigarette but just as she had her lighter to the end of it she noticed what looked like a distillery in the corner and decided it was probably best if she didn't light up in there. Mildly annoyed she leant back against the wall and awaited a possible reaction from the Legionary or someone else to pick her brains about her mental stability.
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Knight Phineas Holiday Cassidy


Phineas Holiday Cassidy didn't say a word as they traveled, he was a little tense the last few days had been rough... Losing the scribe had been a real hit to morale, Maine had his method of coping that being copious amounts of violence and Armann had his method of deep thought. Finn would have paid a million caps to know his thoughts the old man was always a puzzle but one he enjoyed the company of, meanwhile he'd befriended Maine... As much as could, his actions spoke a lot more than he did and Finn did his best to keep the more violent Paladin in check in if he was only a Knight.

As they arrived Finn relaxed, taking up a post as everyone entered he engaged the defenses and locked the position down as he was the last one inside. Before the decontamination room, Finn had set upgraded the bunker's defenses and restored power to the building a handful of hardpoint mounted turrets buzzed to life as Finn stepped out of his armor grabbing parking it beside Khaliya's suit. "Good to see ya, Ma'am." He added politely tipping his hat as the commander and the Star Paladin moved to discuss things. Past decon stood a rack of power armor repair station's set up by Finn to make his life easier, or as easy as it could as the only person able to keep them in good repair.

Across from the bunks a spread out workspace parts, guns, and machines were in pieces all over the tables and on the floor. A small generator sat idle nearby in the corner and few power tools near it, obviously well used. "Well since the commander is indisposed and Maine as about as social as a Brahmin giving birth, falls to me to make y'all feel welcome! Receperint mi amice! Loquetur lingua mea paululum tui." Finn added stepping towards the center of the room, second part directed at Servius in Latin unsure if he knew English. "Knight Phineas Cassidy Holiday at your service! Of course y'all can just call me Finn, Cass, or whatever strikes yer fancy. I'm the resident grease monkey and sniper for our little excursion!" The young man smiled pulling on a duster over his recon armor, it was nearly the same well-worn color of his hat.

Phineas moved towards his bunk, soft locks of auburn hair poked out from under his hat as he rooted around in his footlocker a moment retrieving a holotape he grinned and moved towards the terminal they had. "Now how about a little music? Been awhile since I had folks to talk with... Maine ain't exactly a conversationalist, no matter how good a drinking buddy he is." He grinned as plugged the tape into the terminal and music began to fill the room as Finn kicked off the wall from and rolled towards the still, sampling the booze with a shot glass. "Need's a little more time, anyway make yourself at home. Don't touch our stuff unless we give permission."

Finn picked up a pair of welding goggle setting them around his neck as he looked out at the collected group, in truth the music was to drown out any arguing from the next room. "I'll whip something up for dinner in a bit if y'all are hungry you can join us. I got the plumbing working a weeks ago so we have clean water if you want that... I've also got a collection of fine intoxicants if you prefer your drinks to alcoholic as I do. Lastly, I got a fridge at the back and a stash of nuka I keep to go with the rum when we find a bottle." He tapped his foot to the music organizing his tools, ready to answer questions or just be a good host knowing Maine would more than likely be watching all of them like a hawk he had nothing to fear.

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