[IC] Fallout: New Vegas - The Slayers

[Robeatics]

Freeside, as it always did, smelled like the chem-bittered smoke of a community--if it could be called as much--held together with string. It was no normal smog, holding a potent uniqueness to it, the wind it rode on picking up through outer Vegas and the wastes, dragging with it the scents of irradiated pits, heaps of Brahmin dung, gang campfires. In the Old Mormon Fort, the scent was washed out with the vomit from radiation victims, recovering addicts, or just plain old-fashioned sick people. Jordan was leaning back against the façade of one of the buildings across the street from the fort’s entrance, watching people filter in and out on occasion. The little bottle of Buffout she had in the pouch at her belt felt heavier than ever, and she mulled over throwing it in the dumpster nearby for some poor old beggar to go at. But she wasn’t that cruel, knowing they’d just swallow down the whole load, get sick, maybe die. She had a…responsibility to keep the chems, to keep them away from those who couldn’t bother to understand the chemistry behind them, their own limits. Yes, this had to be the right way.

It’d been months since she’d bothered even looking up at the familiar brick walls every time she’d been in Freeside to stock up on supplies or visit Maya. It brought back too many memories of her work as a guard, or as a little girl working her butt off cleaning up cots or the outhouses just to get the opportunity to watch an operation performed by the doctors, or to borrow a precious medical book they kept under lock. Sometimes the Kings would be persuaded to carry in the body of some nobody who’d overdosed, or a thug who’d been shot dead, and she would learn alongside the Followers trainees as a doctor would perform a prosection. Pain welled up in her chest at the memories and she forced herself to look away. Someday she’d return, clean as a goddamn whistle, ready to help, to reconcile. But for now her hands would shake, her eyes would dart, and her pockets would feel heavy.

She moved from the building across from the fort and began making her way toward Mick and Ralph’s. She hoped they would be carrying enough paper for what she needed, running short as she had been, what with documenting the oddities of the wasteland in the areas fringing the major blast zone near Vegas. She hadn’t yet dared get too close to the irradiated area just yet. She only had a couple doses of Rad-X and Radaway for herself, and the few Slayers she’d managed to run into had been ambivalent of her presence, but tragically so busy planting bullets and blades into the creatures born of the radiation that she doubted a scientific excursion would interest them much. She sighed and slipped inside Mick and Ralph’s, searching for the old, flat sack she used to hold papers and scientific journals. It was pathetically empty right now, and she weighed it with one hand while stepping up to the counter. “Can I get about a hundred sheets of blank paper, if you’ve got it?” She smiled amiably. "Got to stock up, where I'm going."

[Bweoti]

Dylan, finished with a three day outing to take care of some raiders that took over someone's brahmin farm, walks into Mick and Ralph's. He nods at Ralph, and says "Hey Mick, got some raider gear for you." He drops the pistols and a rifle on the counter in front of Mick. "And it looks like you may need some help with these, if you have the spare Caps." Dylan chuckles to himself, because it's good to be one of the better weapon fixers this side of the Dam.

Mick looks up from the weapons into Dylan's face, "Nope, don't need you fixin' these. I do have a plasma rifle in the back that could use some workin' on. Give ya the usual caps for these and another hundred for fixin' up the rifle. Cot's in the back if ya need a place to sleep." Mick tosses down a few handfuls of caps and sweeps the pistols off the counter, then comes back and takes the rifle and begins to look it over.

Dylan scoops up the caps and deposits them in his cargo-pants pocket, then walks around the counter and into the back. He sees this hunk of metal that's supposed to be a plasma rifle and looks back out at Mick. "Seriously? You think I'm a miracle worker or something? A hundred is not going to be enough for this!" He heads back and sits in front of the 'rifle' and sighs.

Mick comes back, whacks Dylan across the back of the head, and walks over to the locked cage, "Have you been gone a while or what?" He then adopts a parental speech when speaking to a child, "Now, where do we keep the valuable weapons, Dyl? Yes, that's right. In the cages that have the locks on them." Mick then proceeds to take out the damaged plasma rifle, locks the cage back up, and then deposits the rifle unceremoniously into Dylan's lap. After another whack on the back of the head, he heads back out to the counter, shaking his head.

Dylan, slightly embarrassed to have forgotten that and assuming the shell of a plasma rifle in front of him was the correct weapon, begins to work on dismantling the plasma rifle. Several hours go by as he engrosses himself into this work. The hours stretch into three days. On the third day, he looks up when he hears a woman's voice asking for paper, which is a rarity in these parts where most people ask for weapons or armor. He spots the rather sexy looking doctor, and remembers seeing her on several occasions over the last few years. He hears her saying, "Got to stock up, where I'm going." Dylan wonders to himself, Wonder where she is going to need paper.

He finishes popping the optics back onto the plasma rifle and puts it back into the cage, locking it back. He comes out and around the counter, holding the back of his neck as he stretches and proceeds to pop his neck. "Rifle's done, Mick. It's back in prison." He steps up about 6-7 feet from Jordan and asks, "You needing some muscle on this trip you're taking? I'm good with a rifle," he says while patting the butt of his .50cal rifle strapped across his back. "Plus, if you don't grab some ammo with that paper, you may not be coming back. And that would be a shame. I could use another outing into the wastes."

[Frizan]

Raphael was leaning against the wall of the wreck of a building across from Mick and Ralph's. He was waiting for someone, some jet addict named Stevenson. According to the Followers, he was one of the best doctors they had. The guy fell on some real hard times, and got a hold of jet from one of the people he patched up. In no time at all, he was addicted, scrounging up enough caps for three shots of jet weekly. After talking to some beggars, Raphael learned that his usual hit-up spot was in the back of this building, and he always came here on this day of the week, like clockwork.

Raphael saw two people pass him by, both going to Mick and Ralph's. The lady that went in had the look of an addict, but she seemed at least somewhat collected. The other one was carrying a bunch of loot. Standard Raider gear, like the kind the Fiends wear. It was a good thing people were still out in the wastes hunting those bastards down; Raphael knew he wouldn't be able to put down his old allies himself, and besides, he's more useful in Freeside working for the doctors.

"Where is this bastard? I mean I've got all day, but god damn..." Raphael sighed to himself and tried to get as comfortable as possible. He could be here for a while. Not like he wasn't used to this, he does these sort of stake-outs for the Followers all the time. Maybe he should go buy some new shoes after this job's done, since his current ones are really beat up and are showing signs of extreme wear. Wouldn't be long before they totally fell apart. Maybe instead of just buying new shoes, he could go see Stacey at the Fort? She's one hell of a....what did she call herself? A seamstress? Well, whatever she is, she's damn good at it. You could give her a bit of linen or denim, and she'll have a jacket for you in a few days.

Raphael's train of thought was broken by the sound of footsteps. They were heading into the ruined building, it must be Stevenson. "About damn time!" Raphael whispered to himself as he turned to the nearest entrance. He tried to avoid making a lot of noise; didn't want to startle the guy and send him running. As Raphael continued through the building, he heard the distinctive click of a jet injector; it came from the room to his left. When he entered the room, he caught Stevenson in the middle of preparing his second shot of Jet. "I wouldn't do that, man. That shit can kill ya dead real quick." Stevenson jumped up, eyes wide. "Who are you!? I-I don't have any money! And this Jet is mine, you hear!?". The man's fall from glory was obvious in physical appearance alone. He was balding, so he was clearly quite old, but Raphael wasn't sure how old; old enough to have strands of gray in his dark red hair. He had injection scars across his left arm, and above his scraggly, unkempt beard was a crooked nose; he must have broken it in a fight.

Raphael raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Stevenson, right? Hey, the Followers sent me. They want you back, man.". Stevenson sat down and put his face in his hands. "I can't go back...I'm too far gone. I know the Followers are stretched thin as it is already, they don't need another addict to look after...". Raphael took the man by the arm and stood him up. "That's the thing! You aren't just 'another addict'! You were one of their best doctors. They won't care how spread thin they are or whatever, they'll help you. All you have to do is leave that jet behind, and go to the Mormon Fort.".

"But what if I relapse? What if I end up stealing supplies and contraband!? What if-" Raphael cut him off there. "Yeah what if, what if, what if. What IF you don't go? What IF you die here? What IF there are people over there that need your damn help?" He took the man outside of the building. "You see these people, man? Just how many would have died on a stretcher or overdosed if you didn't help them, huh? In that fort, there are people just like the people you helped before that need your help NOW." Raphael showed Stevenson all of his injection scars. "I've been down this road. But I was given a second chance, and I took it. Now I'm passing it along; I'm giving YOU a second chance. You gonna take it and go back to where you belong? Back to the Followers? Because this ain't you, you're a better man than this place will take.". Stevenson pondered this, staring at the Fort. He was silent for a few minutes, and then he finally spoke. "You're right...what the hell am I doing here? I gotta go....gotta go back to the Followers! Doctor Manuel Stevenson has to attend his patients!" Raphael patted him on the back roughly. "Hell yes he does! Now get over there and see the doctors. They'll have you back in action in no time."

Stevenson began making his way to the Fort, but turned around after a few steps. "Hey, I never got your name, kid. It's only right if I know who my guardian angel is." Raphael wondered if he should tell him his real name, and after a few seconds, decided Stevenson was a man he could trust with it. "The name's Raphael Daniels. And I'm as far as a man can get from a guardian angel." Stevenson smiled back. "Well whatever you are, thank you. If you ever need patching up, just see me at the Fort. You won't find a better doctor in the whole of the wastes!" With that, Stevenson carried on to the Mormon Fort and Raphael smirked with a faint sense of pride at a job well done. Raphael decided to stay at the front of the building, very slightly hoping for some action, but he mostly just wanted to watch the sky. Something he actually has never done in his life.

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

Though no one outright said anything, Terry could feel stares of disgust on his back as he trudged through the filth of Freeside. He always had hated this place. For the filth that lined the streets, of course, not for the prejudice. He faced prejudice everywhere, but he had seen Powder Ganger camps that were cleaner than this dump. Still, most of the people here were bearable. Anyways, he was in town, and it was the best place to get supplies, and sell some wares without a day long walk, packing almost a hundred pounds worth of gear.

His first stop in the town would be the Silver Rush, somewhere that his reputation was rather good, in comparison to the rest of the town. As he approached the double doors, he was stopped by a man he was unfamiliar with. They must've been hiring a new guard. The guard could clearly see plenty of weapons, mostly energy guns, sticking out from his bag. "Woah, buddy. I'm going to need to take those off of your hands before you go in. You understand." He said, voice sweet as syrup.

Terry chuckled a bit. "Business must be pretty bad, if they can't even hire someone with a little bit of intimidation factor? Where's Simon?" He asked, not moving to give up his weapons. The guard was clearly uncomfortable, and slightly raised his laser rifle. "Anyways, I'm here to sell these to Gloria. Can't do much salesmanship without the wares, get it?"

"Listen, I don't want any trouble. This is my first day, just humor me." The guard said, not budging a bit. The rifle made a slight whirring noise, and lit up as the safety was turned off.

"Fine, fine, fine." Terry said, giving up all of his weapons. At least all but his switchblade. "I'm going to have a long chat with Gloria about this, though." Terry said, snarling as he walked in. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the relatively dim place, accompanied by the clicks and beeps of about a dozen energy weapons being pointed at his head. Unusually; however, they were not lowered, instead kept level with his marred visage.

"Hey, guys. What's wrong? It's your old pal Terry, I'm just here to do some business." Terry said, rather confused. He looked at Gloria, a mix of fear and confusion on his face.
The two stared at each other for a moment, before Gloria waved her hand to Jean-Baptiste, who had the guards lower their guns. "Alright, that was... weird. Anyways, I got some more energy weapons for you. You... might want to clean the blood off of them, after your new rookie lets me bring them in. Where the hell is Simon, anyways?" He asked, only to be met with angry stares. "What's wrong? Talk to me, Gloria." He said, nervously wringing his hands.

Gloria took a deep breath before responding. "You've been stealing too much from the Gun Runners. They thought that we were sending you, so they had their men come, and..." She said, trailing off. She glanced around the room. All of the guards were looking down, a sober look on their faces. Jean-Baptiste spoke up, anger tainting his already gruff voice. "Simon is dead. They shot him in the gut, so he could take his time, and bleed out. We're done doing business with you." He said, raising his plasma caster.

Terry looked up, surprise filling his glowing eyes. "No... I-I'm so sorry... I know he's been with you for quite some time now..." He stammered, a bit shaken himself. He had gotten fairly close to Simon in his time of working with the Van Graff family. "I'll get out of here, now. Please, take the weapons, no charge, as a sign of respect. I'll leave them with your new guard." Terry said, taking the course of action least likely to get him disintigrated. He hurried out, leaving most of the weapons there. He took inventory of his normal weapons, making sure the new guard hadn't done anything to them.

'Great job, Terry. That's one more bridge burnt...' He thought to himself, as he made his way to the Mormon Fort, with some RadX and RadAway to give them. The Followers of the Apocalypse were a group of people he was in very high respects with, but if he wasn't careful, he would fuck that up, too. It was a quick business, as he went in and out. The Followers were glad to have some of that on hand, and Terry surely didn't need it. They offered no pay in exchange, and though Terry was a greedy bastard, he wouldn't dare ask them to give him any.

Feeling good about himself, which he rarely did, Terry made his way over to Mick and Ralph's. He took a look around as he walked in, taking note of the only other two customers, eavesdropping a bit on their conversation. Something about traveling out into the wastes? Not unusual. People only ever really stopped here to get into The Strip, or gear up for trips out to the Mojave. Terry made a beeline to talk to Mick, wasting no time. "Hey, Mick. It's me, Terry. Listen, I know you hate my guts, but I have the caps right here, now could you help me out, and fix up my axe a bit? It's getting hard to protect myself out there with such a dull weapon." He said, the string of words escaping far quicker than he meant them to.

"Get it fixed elsewhere, creep. I saw what you did to that man from the Gun Runners." Mick replied, not even bothering to look at Terry. It was clear that he wasn't wanted there, so Terry showed himself out. Not really sure where to go next, he decided to wait for awhile, crossing the street to wait in front of the ruined building just across from Mick and Ralph's. He pulled out a bottle of Nuka Cola he had just bought from the Atomic Wrangler, and began sipping it slowly, as he mulled over his options. He didn't want to stay in Freeside too much longer, not with his reputation, but he couldn't think of anywhere to go, that would actually be productive.

[Robeatics]

Jordan’s eyes raised up as she regarded the unfamiliar man addressing her, lowering her sack to the counter. She gave him a smile. “Hell, I’ve been looking for people to bring along. I’m hoping you won’t have to use your rifle too much, though.” She extended a hand to shake. “Dr. Jordan Palmer. I’ve been going out into that big blast zone out up on the outskirts of New Vegas for scientific study of all the new and evolved creatures that have been popping up like crazy from the radiation. I—“ She paused upon the entry of another person, and her eyes followed him his entire journey up to the counter. "I..."

He was probably the third most gorgeous thing she’d seen all week. Skin hiding a thousand layers of roughness, textured, rotting in a thousand beautiful ways. She hadn’t seen a single sane ghoul since she’d left for the wastes earlier before, and the sight was truly a blessing. Hair! A full head of it! From what she could tell, it looked real. Wigs were rare in the wastes, why would he bother to have one? Perhaps he cared about his appearance? Damn, did it show.

Shit, he was leaving! “Uh, sorry, one second, uh, Dyl, sir.” She released the handshake quickly and followed after the ghoul with an urgently excited hop in her step. “Hey, uh—Terry! Your name’s Terry, right?” She approached him quickly, waving. “Hi! You’ve got a blunt axe?” As she spoke, she gave him a barely-subtle once-over. “My pa’s got a shop down a couple blocks. He’s a repairman, he could get that sharpened right up for cheap.” She extended a hand for him to shake, rushing forward with a wave of…friendliness. “Dr. Jordan Palmer, call me Jordan. I’ll make sure you get a discount.” Her words were coming a little quicker. Her hand shivered just slightly at the commotion. “Pa's great at what he does, a real craftsman. You said you had to protect yourself ‘out there’? Have you been going into the wastes? Exploring that big old blast zone? Hey, me too! You know, I’ve been looking around for some extra hands, and you sure look like you know your way around a weapon. What do you say?”

[Bweoti]

Dylan chuckled to himself with a smile as the doctor began to ramble on and on, not leaving much room for him to respond. He shook her hand as it was offered, it's only polite and it didn't have a weapon in it. When she just stopped mid-sentence, her eyes followed the man up to the counter.....no, the Ghoul up to the counter, Dylan began to pay attention to the Ghoul as well. Mick can be gruff sometimes, but Dylan has never seen him turn away caps, no matter what the customer was like. Apparently Mick and Ralph had issues with Ghouls. Huh, interesting.

Then the doctor said that she was leaving, and like a gust of wind, she was out and following the ghoul. Odd that she would leave her bag and not finish up her shopping. So, being the semi-good Samaritan, Dylan finished up her shopping, paying with his own caps. He picked up some extra ammunition for himself as well as for the doctor's plasma rifle. Hell, even a bit of 10mm ammunition, because it looked like the Doctor may have recruited someone else to go with us and the Ghoul had one on his belt. He'd be good going towards the blast zone.

After he paid for the supplies, Dylan walked out of Mick & Ralph's. He sat down outside, pulled out a toothpick and tossed it into his mouth, and began to chew. He kicked up his feet and plopped them down into another chair and began to work on his rifle. Clean....Check. Optics straight.....Check. Loaded....Check.

[Frizan]

Raphael was pretty much oblivious to the people crowding around his spot, staring at the sky with a bunch of random thoughts going through his mind, none of which being all that important or relevant. Just some things he wondered about from time to time. He was snapped back into reality by the doors of Mick and Ralph slamming shut as the lady he saw go in came back out hopping after a ghoul, who apparently just took a spot near Raphael along the walls of the building. A SANE ghoul, at that. Raphael shook his head, "Shit, I've seen weirder things." he said to himself. He had only seen feral ghouls before, mostly when his old gang in the Fiends used to go deeper into the desert. What is with this lady? She's as giddy as a damn buffout addict in a hospital. Then she started talking about a...blast zone? Raphael had heard stuff about a big explosion that happened a little ways away from Vegas, monsters pouring out of some vault after it went up in a mushroom cloud. Man, what a mess. Raphael thought about offering himself as a hired gun, that place can't be even remotely safe to be, not to mention the journey GETTING there could be littered with a whole bunch of bad shit. Besides, the Followers weren't going to have another job for him for a while, and it'd sure as hell beat sitting on his ass in Freeside for a month. He decided to introduce himself.

Raphael half-waved at the group forming near him. "Hey, you all heading out into the wastes? If ya need another pair of hands, I'm your man. I'm good with guns, knives, and I can get in and out of a place as fast as lightning." Raphael addressed the lady specifically, as she seemed to be the "party leader" as it would. "The name's Raphael, by the way."

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

Terry looked up, surprised by the woman's sudden approach. He lowered his Nuka-Cola, wiping a bit of stray soda from his face, splashed up from his sudden reaction. "Yeah, the names Terry. Nice of you to offer, but I think my axe'll do as is. Prefer to not use it, I'm sure you understand." He responded, his gravelly voice kept slightly lower than usual. "Yeah, I've been scoping out that blast zone. Not many people can go in as easy as I can, and there's some pretty good shit in there, once you get past the nasties." He said.

He shot a nervous look around as he noticed the other two. It wasn't unheard of for thieves to get someone to go on a little 'trip' with them, before leaving them in the Mojave with a hole in their head. Surely this doctor- what was it? Palmer? Surely she wasn't the murdering kind? She seemed far too innocent and happy for that.

But of course, there was the man she had been talking to in the store. He looked to be the kind of man who knew just about everything there was to know about guns- including how to put a bullet between your eyes. There was another man, who spoke up as Terry looked him over, trying to get a good read. "Quite the little team you're putting together. You all just meet? Seems like a pretty... Interesting coincidence." Terry said, his hand brushing down by his SMG. To distract from the rather obvious motion, he took a large swig of his Nuka-Cola, raising it quickly so as to catch as much attention as he could.

[Robeatics]

"Coincidence? Boy, you got that right." Another man boasting weapons up to his ears and a little wave approached. She recognized him distantly, as a man mentioned a few passing times from her chatting with old Followers contacts. He could be trusted, likely, if the Followers liked him. Wow, today must be some kind of friendly mercenary convention. She glanced over as the ghoul took a very speedy swig of his Nuka-Cola and waved back at the newcomer. “Oh, hi! I was mainly gonna be the one to head out, but I’ve been looking for some people to help with critter wrangling. I’ve got some caps—oop, hold on.” Her bottle of pills jangled, along with all her medical supplies, and as she weighed her money pouch at her hip, several bits of old Stimpacks clattered to the floor and bounced against Terry’s toes. She cursed and stooped to pick them up and stuff them back into their respective places, rising again. “I’m not sure if I’d have enough caps to pay the lot of you, but whatever research I get out of the expedition is enough for me. Like this fella, Terry, here said, there’d be plenty of salvage that’d be yours to split.”

She suddenly seemed to remember her bag of research notes and cursed profusely again, turning her gaze back to Mick and Ralph’s. “Shit, I—Oh, thanks, Dyl!” She approached Dylan and picked up her bag, opening it up. “I’ve got some of the notes already here, but I haven’t been able to do any autopsies or closer examination of any tumor difference between normal subjects and…Where’d this extra paper come from?” She glanced at Dylan. This woman was like a tornado, never staying in one place too long, stepping back and forth between the three of them as she spoke rapid-fire. “Well, anyway. Raphael, right? You’d be a great addition, and if things go well the three of you will get whatever you feel like carrying out.” She tucked away her papers and brahimskin notebooks and slung the sack back over her shoulder, waiting for their respective responses with a little bit of a fidget. This was exciting! If they, well, took the job. She had never been very good at group conversation, or conversation in general, and the idea of them all saying no at the same time would launch her straight back to…well, where she was ten minutes ago, she guessed.

[Bweoti]

Dylan stood up after the Doc grabbed her bag. He started to reply to her question, but before he could, she turned around and started speaking to Raph. Guess she's a bit out of touch he thought to himself. Dylan slung the .50cal rifle over his shoulder and unholstered his Energy Pistol. He checked the sights, made sure the E-Cell was maxed, then reholstered the pistol. "Listen, I'm in. Don't need caps as long as the haul is worth it, and even if it's not, as long as I take out some baddies, then we're good. I'm not trying to be all noble and crap, but I wouldn't feel upset in killing the nasties that are coming out of that place before they get to anything resembling civilization. I don't think we should shoot first and ask questions later when it comes to bipeds, though. Radiation may give some survivors heightened intelligence or other capabilities. Just saying."

With that, he took out another toothpick, spat out the old one and popped in a new one and began to chew on that one. "Oh, and I can fix up any weapon that shoots, from bows and crossbows to plasma rifles and such. I can also make ammunition, as long as I have the supplies. I want first dibs on anything that we've never seen before." He looked at Terry and said, "Oh, and be damned glad to have you along, just as long as you," he motioned to the SMG that Terry's hand was dangerously near, " don't shoot me with that. A man of your capabilities could be quite useful in the blast zone. I'll keep you alive from a distance," as Dylan patted the butt of his rifle, "and you scrounge what you think would benefit us. Deal?" Dylan stuck out his hand and offered it to the ghoul.

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

Terry looked very confused at all of this happening so suddenly. He had never seen any smoothskins so eager to go out into the Mojave, let alone someplace so full of radiation. He couldn't believe how quickly this ragtag group had banded together. In all honesty, he wouldn't dare even think about joining a group of smoothskins on a journey like this at any point when he was in his right mind.

But then he considered his options. He could stay here, and scrounge away for caps, doing small jobs for... Well, not many people would accept his help these days. So, that left him with finding some new town to help out at, or find work with the Crimson Caravan Company. Right about now he was hurting for caps, thanks to a pair of thugs who caught him off guard awhile back. Sure, the caps would probably be nice in this little 'expedition', but the risk would be massive. In his trips out to the radiated zones, he had seen all manner of terrifying irradiated monsters, that made centaurs look like your everyday person.

He then turned to the other man, the repairsman. "What did Palmer call you? Dill? Sure, you smoothskins are all the same." He said, a bit offended by the mans comment. "Oh sure, 'A man of my capabilities'. Yeah, we get it. I'm a ghoul, so of course I drink radioactive waste and bask in radiated zones, right?" He said, most of it spoke in a low mutter as he spit on the sidewalk.

Before anyone could respond to his rather out of place outburst, he pulled out his switchblade, running the red stained blade across his palms slowly. "Alright. Before I say anything stupid, like agreeing to join you all on this suicide mission, I've gotta ask. Legion or NCR?" He said, waving his knife around a bit as he spoke, before ultimately pointing it at Dylan, not in a menacing way, more of just putting him on the spot.

[Bweoti]

Dylan put up his left hand as he subtly bladed himself to the now armed ghoul. "You want me to choose between two different types of slavery. One who does it openly and one who just wants to control everyone in the semblance of trying to put order to our chaos? Nah, I pass." Dylan then took a half step backward, his left hand still up. "Now, you definitely misunderstood me about your capabilities. Yes, I was alluding to the fact that you're a ghoul and that you can survive a LOT better than the rest of us when it comes to radiation. I shoot things from a distance. Yours are radiation and melee, mine is ranged combat. If you have a problem with your own capabilities, then that's your own issue. I was just making a suggestion as to how we can combine our skills, talents, and capabilities."

He boldly stepped forward towards the ghoul, and offered his right hand for a shake, "Now, are you in and possibly rich, or are you out?"

[Frizan]

Raphael watched as the woman bounced back and forth between the members of the party with an eyebrow raised. "This lady is absolutely bonkers..." he thought to himself. He gave her a look-over, trying to come up with an opinion of her OTHER than that she's crazy. He'll probably learn along the road. Fortunately...or unfortunately, Raphael couldn't decide, the ghoul was just as cautious as he was, as he asked who each person aligned themselves with. Legion? Fuck no. NCR? HELL no. "Ditto for me, slick. I ain't a part of either of those clown acts. I know about the Legion and the sick shit they've done, and I've had one too many bad run-ins with the NCR for me to even consider joining up." Raphael adjusted his belt, his machete clanking against the bits of metal on his outfit. "What about you, T? Who's side are you on?"

[DR_TRAPEZOID]

Terry looked hard at both of the men, his eyes quickly shifting between them. He thought for a moment, visibly grinding his teeth, thanks to a lack of skin around his mouth. "To be fair, if either of you had said Legion, I'd have put a mag's worth of bullets in your skull. The NCR hasn't been perfect, but they damn well try. Rangers have saved my ass more than I'd like to say, but the Legion is..." Terry said, suddenly stopping as his voice rose. "I haven't had the best relationship with them." He muttered, thinking back to the old days, when he had enough caps to not give a shit about anything but finding the next Legionaries to kill. His eyes then sunk down to look at Dylans hand. He thought for a bit too long on it before he finally made his decision, and shook the hand, albeit slowly, and in a very lackluster way. "This is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done... Alright, smoothie. Count me in."

[Robeatics]

Jordan’s expression was hard to read as the two other humans gave their opinions of the Legion. Thank god none of them were sympathizers with the slaver bastards, or she’d be sure to turn a good chunk of each of them to goo. Her shoulders gave a little jostle at a sudden flash of memory—the smell of smoke and a bloodied man, laughter, the scrape of rubble against her face as it was forced to the side. She gave another little bout of twitching, shook it out and gave them all a wide smile. “Shit, that was the easiest recruitment I’ve ever seen. Not--not that I’ve really done any before.” She pulled a scrap of paper from its position tucked under her belt, whipped out a charcoal-tipped stick from a pouch and checked off on her to-do list, under ‘BUY PAPER!!!’. She looked up momentarily and scribbled something extra down onto the parchment before tucking it away again. “Okay. You fellas have camping supplies, right? I just gotta make a quick run for some medical stuff. Ugh, you would not believe how much Radaway I’ve been using up.”

Chuckling, she gave a brief wave and made for the Old Mormon Fort’s gate, slipping inside just after gripping one of the guards by the arm, saying something, and promptly being given a very quick squeeze of greeting in return. Showing her face at the Fort was bittersweet at best and painful at worst, if only because all of her childhood heroes would look over, shake their heads, sigh, and get back to work. She could hide her abuse under bubbliness to most people, but to the doctors she held no secrets. It was still bad, but then when had it ever been great? She was advancing, some of them had to see that. A month ago she’d been worse.

She spotted Dr. Stevenson in the shade of a tent, and nearly by sense she could tell something was wrong. The look Dr. Degatto gave him made her heart stiffen coldly. She inched forward, tempted to simply continue on and reach the scholar always willing to sell her surplus supplies for scrap and trade, to ignore the scene, but Stevenson was shaking. Degatto was chiding, as always, but with much greater urgency, as one would warn another of an impending blast. Stevenson glanced upward, met her gaze, and looked away. She bit back her words and kept walking.

She found Bucky by the injured tent, taking inventory of their Stimpaks and chem reserves. Wordlessly, he shook her hand and set down the clipboard with a sigh. “I don’t think we’re needing caps right now, J. You need some Radaway? I might have some lying around if you could spare some stims.” He shook his head. “People are smart enough—usually, heh—to stay away from the irradiated zones, but the critters are also smart enough to climb outta their holes and fuck people up.”

Jordan hummed and checked her own supplies. “I can give you...three.”

They made the trade gladly, Bucky gave her a friendly smack on the arm, and she was off, heading out of the Fort and tucking the three Radaways carefully into her pack. Around only ten minutes had passed, and she found wherever her newfound merry bunch stood. “Alrighty, I’ve got everything I need for a couple weeks.” She gave her various canteens a good shake each. “…We can drop by the pump on our way out. Shit, I’m excited! I’ve never traveled around with other humans much before.”

[Bweoti]

After hearing Dr. Jordan's mention of supplies, a lightbulb went off in his head as he remembered that he needed to get his pack. "I'll be right back." With that, he left the group and headed back inside Mick & Ralph's. He walked into the back and grabbed his framed backpack from his work station. Backpack in one hand, he walked back out to the counter, purchased a couple of other supplies, some jerky, and two cigars. He stuffed his new supplies into his back and headed back out the door.

Dylan lifted his backpack onto his shoulders and snapped the straps at his chest. He then took the rifle off his shoulder and walked back up to the group. "Ready to head out." He spat out his chewed up toothpick and popped in another fresh one. After seeing the Doctor head back up, he chuckled to himself at her comment, thinking That doesn't surprise me.

[Frizan]

"Shit, yeah! I don't have jack..." Raphael checked his pack and pockets for anything useful. "Hmm, assuming you guys can wait a minute or two, I'll go the Fort and get my pay. Should be enough caps to buy the essentials." Raphael waved back at the group as he made his way to the Mormon Fort, taking quick strides. He didn't want to take too long. Luckily he didn't come across any undesirables along the way; killing a man would probably not give a good first impression on his new travel buds. When Raphael arrived, he pushed open the heavy wooden gate and headed inside. Passing by the tents to find the doctor who had his pay, he saw Stevenson resting in one of the cots. Raphael was surprised that the man actually came back, convincing an addict to get help usually wasn't as easy as just urging them to. Hell, it took Raphael almost DIEING to get help from the Followers, and even then he still has urges.

Raphael spotted doctor Monroe, the man who gave him the job, looking over a clipboard by one of the tents. He looked up and greeted Raphael. "Aha, there you are! I was almost concerned. Good job on getting Manuel back. Once he kicks his habits, the people of Freeside can expect to live a few days longer." The two men shook hands. Raphael and Monroe knew each other quite well, as he was one of the doctors who found Raphael by the New Vegas sign. He was Raphael's usual task-giver. "Yeah, well, it was a hell of a lot easier than I thought it would be. Really, I just told him to go back here, essentially." Monroe smiled, which wasn't surprising to Raphael. He smiled all the damn time. "Of course, I'm not paying you based on the difficulty of the retrieval. All the matters is that you got it done! So here you are, eighty caps as promised. As a doctor, may I suggest buying some food? You look rather famished." Only then did Raphael feel the hunger pangs in his gut. "Hm...yeah, that's probably a good idea. Well I'll see ya later doc. Hit me up if you need anything." Doctor Monroe looked down at his clipboard for a second and then looked back up at Raphael. "Of course. Take care of yourself out there."

Now with some caps silently clinking in his pockets, Raphael hurried off to Mick and Ralph's, with a small wave to the group as he headed inside. Ralph greeted him rather sarcastically. "Well well, if it ain't our favorite neighborhood errand boy! So what are the Followers having you do today, Raph?" Raphael rolled his eyes in response. "Yeah, nice to see you too Ralph. The Followers ain't having me do anything right now, I just got done with a job." He rattled his pockets, making the caps clink together conspicuously. "I'm headed out into the wastes for a little while. Gotta get some essentials for the journey. Mostly food and maybe a stim." Raphael followed Ralph to his counter, and watched Ralph check his stock. "Well, let's see here...I've got a couple of stimpaks, three iguana sticks, a pack of Fancy Lads...oh, and uh...two colas." Raphael took some caps out of his pocket. "I'll take two of the sticks, the Fancy Lads, and a stimpak." Ralph laid out the product in front of his customer and opened the rickety cash register next to him. "For you Raph, that'll be forty five caps." More than half of his pay gone. But Raphael didn't mind, because he knew that his caps wouldn't mean shit if he kicked the bucket out in the desert. Raphael paid his due in full, and put the goods in the small pack on his belt. After saying goodbye, he headed outside back to the group. "Well, I'm all set. Sorry about the wait."

[Robeatics]

Jordan adjusted everything into place with a few shrugs of her shoulders, spinning on her heel once she made sure everyone was set. She unfolded a paper map, one she seemed to have drawn herself, marred with a thousand little notes and symbols. She looked up at the Old Mormon Fort, checked a compass, and turned to rigidly face the north. She began walking, half buried in her map, glancing back occasionally to make sure her companions were following. “I’ve got a few places I’d like to check first. If we’re lucky, we can make it to one of them and set up camp before—“ She grunted as she bumped rather heavily into an older man, one whose hat fell right off his head.

He cursed, picking it up and dusting it off. He was dressed like a gambler on his way to New Vegas, but the extensive patches in his suit told against any kind of fortune. He hung a dirty revolver from his belt. He leveled his gaze on her face and recognized her quickly. “Robot-bangin’ bitch, watch it! Jesus, this thing is brand new!” He glowered down at her as he adjusted his hat, and she glared right back. He seemed to falter a little, shaking his head finally and preparing to shove through the three men behind her. Seeing that one was a ghoul and they were all armed to the teeth, he gave nervous pause and looked back at her. “W-when…? Well, uh—“ He glanced at Terry, “—I’ll get outta your hair.” She hadn’t seen a man slink off so quickly in her life.

The only indication she made to feeling anything about the confrontation was a little shake of her head. “Asshole.” She kept walking, glancing upward a little more frequently until they were nearly out of Freeside. A few little dust devils were busy spinning themselves to death near the exit, picking up bits of trash along the way. She slapped away some junk paper that flew her way and checked her map. “Now, I don’t really know the exact, uh, location of the first place I wanna check out, but this one caravan guy I met on the road told me he saw a shitton of critters near this one old radio tower, so we could start there. If you guys start feeling sick or hurt anywhere at all while we’re out there, let me know and I’ll check it out.” She gave the kind of nervous laugh someone gave when they were half-kidding. “I’d rather not accidentally kill any of you in the name of discovery.”

[Bweoti]

Dylan watched the interaction between the Doctor and the gambler. As the man began to slink off, Dylan stepped in front of him and adjusted his grip on his .50cal rifle into his left hand. With his right hand, he slowly and deliberately reached up, palmed the man's hat, reversed his hand, and placed it on top of his own head. "Nice hat. I meant to bring one along, and this gift means a lot to me. Thank you." As he finished talking, Dylan stepped aside and let him continue to slink off. He resumed his two handed grip on his rifle.

Outside of Freeside, Dylan looked to the skyline, "If you know the direction, just look for a radio tower. We can hop from tower to tower until we find the one with critters comin' out of it. As for the meds, I've got a trio of RadAway, RadX, and stims. They are in the front pocket of my backpack, lettin' you know just in case I can't get to them. And I'd rather not be accidentally killed in anything's name, heh. This place you're taking us, it a place we're gonna clean out and hunker down for the night or what's the story behind it?" As he spoke, Dylan kept a vigilant eye on the horizon, looking for Radio Towers and the telltale scaly hooked tail in the air of Radscorpions.

[Frizan]

Raphael snorted in annoyance as he watched the stranger tried to strong-arm him and the rest of the group. "Cocky asshole..." He spat at the ground as the man walked away. "New Vegas has a real bad habit of breeding jackasses out of regular Joes." Just then, faint clicking and revving sounded out. "No fuckin' way..." Raphael took his Recharger Rifle out with his right hand and looked at it from the side. "Damn it, the cells are out of place again!" He fought with the rifle for a while, trying to open up the compartment that held the recharger cell in the rifle. The damn thing did this ALL the time. Raphael thought back to when his rifle acted up during a firefight, back when he was running with the Fiends. He was out in the desert with two of people from his gang, Deb and Nelly. Deb, as far as Raphael was concerned, was a babe in every way, and he had always had a thing for her. Never kicked off though, unfortunately. She also LOVED her explosives. Was also cooking up some new toy to use on passersby. Crazy broad.

Nelly was the kid of the gang; just joined up in the Fiends by the time they went out on this trek. Everyone gave him a lot of shit, as was normal for new additions, but he took it well enough. Raphael and Deb always made fun of his name, as they thought it sounded child-like. Looked like a kid, too, early teens and barely a stubble on his chin. Raphael kinda misses him, oddly enough. They were as much of brothers as two men could get.

So there they were, out in the middle of bum fuck no where, when they suddenly got ambushed by radscorpions. They ran a good distance from the monstrosities before Raphael and Nelly laid down on them with gunfire. Deb lobbed a stick of dynamite into the pack, killing one and critically injuring another. Raphael kept firing his recharger rifle, until he heard that dreaded clicking, and the rifle powered down. The remaining two radscorpions got very close, too close.. Nelly had to reload, and Deb couldn't get out another dynamite without killing them all, so they retreated quickly into a nearby barn. Raphael had grabbed a sledgehammer hanging off of a wall, and stood at the door, plastered against the wall, waiting for the bastards.

As soon as one stuck their legs through the door, Raphael swung down fiercely, crushing the radscorpion's face. Its screech rang throughout the room, accompanied by the shattering of its exoskeleton. Nelly popped up from behind a table, and let lose into the final scorpion, riddling it with bullets until it finally stopped moving. All three of them let out a loud cheer, and headed back to camp after rummaging through the barn. They got back with some new tools, radscorpion stingers that they'd sell for chem money, and a good story to tell at the fire.

Raphael popped the recharger cell back in, and closed the compartment. After flicking a switch, the rifle buzzed back to life, lighting up all down the barrel. "There we go. Good as...somewhat new."