Lord WyronFrankie Cabrera
Ghouls could be quite the comedians when they wanted to, she thought, looking over at Marvin moments after his comment about “being a ghoul" elicited a slight chuckle from her. No doubt he was probably right, especially in an era that saw nothing but death and decay of brain cells and flesh by means of terrible radioactive exposure. Of course, for the ghouls of the world, radiation was their only saving grace, which ironically allowed them to outlive humans that were otherwise withering away quickly by disease and pestilence brought on by the ever-present radioactive fallout. A bitter-sweet existence for sure, watching friends and loved ones disappear as you continue to love another day. Frankie had only ever met a handful of ghouls in her young lifetime though, and many of whom wished for death to come for them swiftly, not wanting to endure further days of hopelessness. But Marvin seemed different. He seemed to allow whatever flicker of hope that remained in the back of his mind to carry him through each day, and of course humor helped immensely. But she supposed that was probably the best way to survive such a life in the wasteland.
“It’ll hold for sure.” She said, regarding the perfectly executed patch up job she’d just finished along the knee area of Emil’s suit. “And if it doesn't. It was nice knowing you.” The girl smirked as she packed up her supplies and zipped up the bag before tossing it over her shoulder again. Yep. Humor was certainly one of the many keys to enjoying an otherwise shit existence.
At Khaliya’s command, she noticed the group moving up toward the lobby area of the railway station, and keeping within the center, she stepped in line as they descended. Each footfall felt like someone might actually fall right through the rusty, oxidized metal step and corroded, splintered wooden frame that seemed to be barely holding on. As they made into the lobby area though, the medic let out an uncontrollable gasp as her attention immediately landed on the skeletal remains of a mother and her still swaddled baby, thankfully fully covered and unseen. She didn't need to see the corpse of a baby to know what it looked like as she’d seen plenty growing up in her home settlement, as well as the several raider camps she was forced to migrate to. Sadly, even though children were said to be the hope of a better future, many of them never made it past their infancy. Frankie hated that the world could be so cruel, even to those who hadn't had a chance to experience it yet and judge for themselves.
She quickly jolted from her supposed reverie by the bolstered voice of the gungho cowboy from Texas -”Short Fuse” if she recalled- as he decided to take the suicidal course of action and run up to the unknown surface, despite the radiation falling from the sky in the form of raindrops. Why is there always at least one in every group who decides to forget that their actions might just jeopardize the rest of the pack’s safety? And with that, Frankie held her handgun at the ready, sticking close to the others for cover.