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[color=#ae0f2a]𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽:[/color] 𝓪 𝓭𝓪𝓶𝓮 𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓭 𝓛𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓱
[color=#ae0f2a]𝚆𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙾𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙾𝙽, 𝙸-𝟻, 𝙽𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙴𝚁
𝙹𝚄𝙽𝙴 𝟷𝟼𝚃𝙷 𝟸𝟸𝟾𝟺
𝙷𝙰𝙻𝙵-𝙰𝚂𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙿; 𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻-𝙿𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙴𝙳[/color]
[indent][indent][indent][i]A robot, two super mutants, four humans, an old woman, and a small [b]clicky[/b] drone walk into a bar…[/i] It wasn’t a finished joke, as the punchline eluded her, but this group was not the regular fodder that crossed the wastelands. This was the sort of cast that appeared in [i]Bottlecap Dreadfuls[/i]. It was an attack on her pride to admit she was one of the normal hirelings of the doctor. She’d thought she’d solely have the [i]flair[/i] and [i]pizzazz.[/i] The only thing she had that was different was her choice of clothing. Jack was the best dressed among them. It wasn’t a hard feat, but then again seeing a super mutant clad in a three-piece suit was the dream.

She’d been keeping half-an-eye out as they marched, taking to peeling a cigar out of the box. The smoke from it was probably itchy to a few sensitive noses, but she was assured that she didn’t bother the robot. Or maybe she did; he seemed to be of the medical make. As the stick slowly dwindled down, so did the repetitive sights of the desert. Flora began to peel out of the ground. Of course, none of it screamed “healthy.” It was the color of the fluorescent lights that dotted New Vegas. But instead of advertising “free drinks for every gambler”, this one offered “sterility with every bite of my neon red fruit.” Jack smirked. 

The patchy nature of the sun through the canopy above matched the vitiligo across her tawny, brown skin. Her hat dipped to obscure her eyes, and her white hair was braided at the nape of her neck for heat purposes. Despite their travels, Jack’s clothing had held up. It wasn’t the fragile, silk-like suits that she’d wear around the casino. This was made for traveling. But who said that you had to be ugly while doing it? Apparently, whoever dressed her compatriots. They were more utilitarianly attired. And while that was good on an adventure such as this, it did advertise that they were a walking-talking butcher shop of sentience. They were close to civilization, and Jack couldn’t wait to prop her fancy boots up. Unfortunately, night fell before their feet passed the welcome sign of the town. The doctor wasn’t wrong, it’d be better to camp than to try to trek in the miasma of darkness.

Jack spent the few moments before sleep considering their mission. She’d kept it in the back of her mind along with all the memories that bubbled up there. Her fingers had pawed lightly at her shirt, and she rubbed the imprint of the dog tags beneath with a pensive touch. Her eyes may have flickered over to Ahab and then to Gail before returning to their own business. A soft sigh passed through her lips as she laid down.

Sleep eventually dragged her down, submerging her into the deepness of that slumbering well. Jack was awoken by the sound of yelling and gunshots. Someone stiffly kicked her side. She grunted through a snore and pulled herself upwards. Her palm came to her eyes, and she brushed the sleep out of her vision as her hat tumbled away from its precarious position on her face. [color=#ae0f2a]“What? Who?”[/color] Someone said something about “wolves.” Her ears perked up. [color=#ae0f2a]“Really, wolves? Just wolves? No scorpion-robot-slug-wolf hybrid?”[/color] Jack quickly affixed her hat to her head.[color=#ae0f2a]“Well, fire away, boys. Get rid of those vanilla-ass wolves so we can move on to the irradiated abominations of the Waste,”[/color] she said, pulling out her energy pistol. There was no need for her to fire wildly into the night when she had so many well-armed compatriots. Batteries were expensive, and she was too rattled with yawns to properly aim.
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