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Alison Fitzpatrick

Club Carousel, Late Evening

Alison put the finishing touches on her bedding. She’d created a fortress of blankets on Emerald’s floor, and for now, that would have to substitute for her apartment. She wasn’t allowed to get any of her things; Julie, her boy-toy, and the entire place were still part of an ongoing investigation. Emerald hadn’t returned yet. She was under the impression that the woman would be on her way up once closing time – an unearthly hour of 2:30 – arrived. That was fine. It gave her a few hours to reflect on her own.

After washing her face, Alison submerged herself into her incredibly comfortable blanket-fort. She’d set it right next to Emerald’s bed. As much as she didn’t want to be in the woman’s hair, she was still wary. She didn’t know why, though; her roommate’s murder seemed to be a crime of passion. Nonetheless, the darkness of that morning still lingered with her.

There would be no more of that. Alison had come to New York to find happiness. And that was exactly where she would head. Manhattan was a dirty place, filled with many secrets, but she would carve a fulfilling existence out of it. She knew she could – she had to.

After a while, the door to Emerald’s apartment slowly opened and Alison smiled. She’d finally come home. Alison kept her face planted into the pillow as she tried to formulate the words she wanted to say to Emerald. She had to keep her ‘cool’ this time around – some form of gratitude, but far less intense than what she had offered earlier.

Emerald tapped her on the neck and Alison rolled over. “What?” However, upon looking, the silhouette before her was far larger than she’d expected. Emerald had put on some sort of large coat, and the figure in the dark was strange. “Emerald?”

A laughing began to emanate through the apartment. It wasn’t her. A hoarse, grotesque tone of voice reverberated through the room.

No, no, no, no. The figure grabbed her by the arm and pulled her upright. “Please! I—“ The figure interrupted her by slamming his fist onto her lips, breaking several teeth and causing blood to pour out of her gums. Tears began to well up in her eyes. She could not see the figure’s face, but she could smell him. He smelled delightful – like a stunning mix of cologne and roses. She sobbed as he continued to hold her arm. He was strong; his very grip strained her forearm and kept her from moving.

“Help!—“ Her scream was once again silenced as the figure now held his palm over Alison’s mouth. He retrieved a glinting object from his belt, which upon holding out, appeared to be a machete. He jammed it into Alison’s gut and turned the blade. His muted hand could hardly even suppress her screaming. The pain was unbearable. Blood began to gush out of her chest. She made one last attempt to free her mouth and scream, and she successfully wailed into the hallway. “Help me!”

The figure decided that enough was enough. He shoved his blade into Alison’s eye and into her brain, impaling her head onto the wood of Emerald’s bedframe. She was gone. He ripped Alison’s other eye out of its socket and tossed it onto the floor. He retrieved his usual rose from his pocket and planted it inside of her free eyesocket, presenting a sickening bloom from inside her skull. Help would be on the way. He destroyed the window, climbed out of the fire escape, and disappeared into the darkness.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Lorelei Jones - Weaver Residence

Lorelei looked back at Steve. "If you're so keen on helping her, then you'll get to do the heavy lifting. If the doctor ran back to his clinic, then we need to get moving." She carefully pressed through the double doors to the large brick apartment complex and drew her revolver. She began speaking in hushed whispers. "There's no telling who'll come after her."

Lorelei guided Steve upstairs. She gingerly trotted up the long set of stairwells. "I'll have to warn you. She's...jumpy. If she's awake, I don't know how she'll react to a stranger being around." She finally stopped at the third floor and pushed into the hallway. "Nothing brash. We are only trying to help her. Don't give her the impression we are there do anything outside of that category."

After Lorelei spotted Eliza's door, she slowly tiptoed toward it, Steve in tow. "...Eliza? I've brought someone who can take you to a real doctor. We're here to help." She peered into the room. Upon there being no sign of hostiles, she holstered her revolver and walked inside. "And before you go all hermit on me, you're going to need real treatment if you want to get out of bed anytime in the next several weeks."

Lorelei stared back at Steve expectantly. "Let's get her to the clinic."

War Never Changes

Robert Edwin House House - President, C.E.O, and Sole Proprietor of the FZM
Lucky 38

"I could say more Robert, but I'm sure you have questions. While I obviously could not attend your convention in person...not until we determined it was safe of course, I wanted to make sure we could have the chance to talk again. If only indirectly. The 'holotape' that A6 placed into the holotape player was more than just a recording. It is a AI system all its own. Something that I designed myself. It is based fully on my own neurological matrix and is programmed to respond to various inquiries. Its response are sometimes...limited, but it is quite capable of answering some basic questions for you. I know its not ideal...but it will have to do for now. So please...ask away."

Robert House was, for perhaps the first time since before the war, at a loss for words. It might have seemed insulting to Thomas, after that whole speech, for Mr. House to leave him with such a span of silence. “Thomas…It’s you. By god, the Old World is waking up, isn’t it? The titans of our old power, finding their way back into the world. If you’re real, then there is much work to be done.”

Mr. House sent for Jane. “Jane, catalogue everything uttered in this conversation. It is of upmost importance.” The securitron, having freshly rolled into the room, suddenly froze and went into some sort of data-stasis.

Robert then proceeded with his questions. “Very well. If it is to be later before we truly speak with each other, then I will banter with this coding you’ve written.” He proceeded. “Then Thomas, I must ask, to what extent has your research exceeded. Have you created your own civilization of them? Your own world? Or are you just as humble and careful as I’d remembered.”

He paused again as he drew up another question. “And these ‘synths’ of yours…” He stared at the group of deactivated humanoids through his monitor. “They’re completely malleable? You can shape them…order them to do anything?”

Robert House then managed a chuckle over his intercom. “I am impressed, Thomas. Surprised that you’ve found a way to taste immortality as I have, which I suppose I will ask later. But I am also surprised that you’ve been chiseling at the high-technology sectors. I am impressed.”

War Never Changes

Robert Edwin House – President, C.E.O, and Sole Proprietor of the FZM
Lucky 38, 27th Floor

As Robert waited for the remaining delegates to take their seats in the Gourmand, he returned his signal to a flat-screen on the wall in the Lucky 38 conference room. His enigmatic face flickered upon the computer, revealing the digitally-produced facsimile of his likeness.

The Borgios had all gotten comfortable, although this handful of representatives at a massive table (meant for almost thirty) looked awkward and almost humorous to him. Still, he needed what they knew. That name was supposed to be gone. It was supposed to be erased. Yet there it was, clear as day.

Mr. House activated his microphone. “My name is Robert Edwin House – President, C.E.O., and Sole Proprietor of the FZM. I have hosted you in my home, today, because I received transmissions from a very interesting conversation that you had with one of my securitrons.” He paused. “I do hope you are enjoying your stay. I do not mean to alarm you.”

Robert then paused and took a deep breath. “I want to, however, skip pleasantries because I am deeply curious as to why you have come across the name of Thomas Milburn. That name has been wiped away with the Great War, yet it springs up here on my doorstep. Why?”

A Sharp-Dressed Ghoul
The Tops Hotel and Casino

The ghoul scrambled for the Chairmen’s conference room. He had planned this perfectly – he had raided their vault during a meeting, and it was supposedly still underway. Somehow, none of the guards realized that the two massive duffel bags on his back were far too large for innocent winnings, but he phonied himself all the way into the meeting.

The doorman walked into the conference room and bowed his head. “A…uh… ‘Mr. Domino’ has arrived.”

At the conference table, Swank jolted awake from his bored stupor. “What?!”

Dean walked up to the table and slammed the two duffel bags against the table. “It’s a pleasure, ‘Swank’.”

The other chairmen at the table drew their weapons, pointing them at Dean.

“Uh-uh.” Dean retrieved a lighter from his pocket and pointed the flame at the duffel bags. “These particular goodie-bags have been coated in oil and are filled with your precious coffers. Any funny business, and your entire revenue will be lit on fire.”

Swank waved, motioning for the rest of the guards to lower their weapons. He had a furious, nervous expression on his face. “What do you want, Dean Domino?”

“Aren’t you going to ask how I did it?” Dean had a silly, shit-eating grin across his face. He pointed at his sunglasses. “I am clearly a master of disguise. Even after robbing Vault 21, your man at the door couldn’t make the ‘sharp-dressed-ghoul-who-is-liable-to-rob-you-blind’.

Swank rubbed his forehead and sighed. “No. I don’t care how you did it.”

“You don’t? Well, you should.” Dean kept his lighter pointed toward the bags. “I want this casino. For myself.”

“You what?! No!” Swank bellowed. “What kind of delusional cat are you?”

“One who has thought this through,” said Dean in his calculated, articulate voice. “If I burn these bags, you’re through. There’s hundreds of thousands worth of caps and NCR dollars in there. Without them, your casino will go under from debts that you will no longer be able to pay. House won’t bail you out, because he’s been looking for a reason to wipe the slate clean. I will be his voluntary dustpan.”
Swank banged his fist against the table. “I’m not afraid of your silly theatrics!”

“You should be. I drop this lighter, your regime is through.” He looked at the others. “Here’s what I’ll do. You fire this fraud, who was robbed blind under his own nose, and give me the top gig. In return, you’ll have your money back, and everything I stole from Vault 21.”
The other chairmen began to look among themselves.

“You can’t be serious?” Swank folded his arms as he looked at the others.

“Sorry, cat. You’re through.”

General Jimmy Donovan – Leader of the F.Z.M Military
Hopeville Missile Base

The General watched from his office in Hopeville Missile base as the flood of prospective soldiers walked through the halls of the bunker. This gig was new for him – he had been equipped with the U.S. General’s Outfit left behind in the Divide. In fact, there was an entire wealth of military equipment left behind. There was enough U.S. Army Combat Armor to supply an entire army, and several riot gear suits were left as well. It was strange to think that these vagrants and NCR deserters would eventually march on his behalf. Underneath the old-world flag.

Suddenly, the computer on Jimmy’s desk flickered. He was receiving a transmission from Mr. House.

“General Donovan speaking.”

“Salutations, General. How are the accommodations in the Divide?”

“Satisfactory, sir. Hopeville has been cleaned and repurposed, as have the tents, and we’re putting the final changes on Ashton. The final stretch of the Divide itself, as I have said, will take a great deal of time, but we’re on schedule. We are having to demolish a great many of the fallen buildings, sir.”

“Very good. I trust that training is going well?”

“Decently. We are waiting for the Brotherhood to arrive to grant us some elite training, but we are doing what we can. We can expect a regular-issue of M16s, AK-47s, as well as plasma and laser rifles alike from what’s been left behind here.”

“Err on the side of conventional weapons,” muttered Mr. House. “The energy rifles will be extremely expensive to maintain on a large scale. Once the human military has been more firmly implemented into the scheme of things, then we can talk about plasma rifles.”

“Very well, sir.”

“What sort of numbers have the military invitation brought?”

“We haven’t done an official census sir, but the number is in the thousands. Many of them will be unfit for service, but many of them will be trained into your ranks, sir.”

“And my REPCONN scientists have de-activated the ICBM found in Hopeville, yes?”

General Donovan stared out of his window and nodded. “Indeed. It has been scrapped for parts for you and the Brotherhood’s research alike. Just as you asked.”

“Good. Carry on, then.”

War Never Changes

Robert Edwin House - President of the F.Z.M.

Thomas Milburne.

The name still bounced around the corridors of Robert's mind like a stray ping-pong ball. "How they hell did they learn of that name?" His digitally-degenerated voice echoed through the cocktail lounge of the Lucky 38. The King returned, gingerly stepping out of the elevator like a hound who'd just been just been reprimanded by his owner.

"What name?" asked The King as he made his way in front of Mr. House's monitor.

"There's a strange family staying here, your kingship." Robert referred to The King by title in a condescendingly sarcastic manner.

"Oh?"

"Something's off about this. How the hell do they know that name? It's been erased from history. Only I should know it."

"You haven't told me their name."

"Unimportant. I want you to watch how a real diplomat operates today. You'll get to sit in the Gourmand and keep your mouth firmly shut while I navigate through the mess you've made."

The King folded his arms. "You try dealing with that fucking buffoon of a president, boss. I was thrown unarmed into the cage of a hungry tiger."

"Your analogy is cute, your kingship, but inaccurate. You were a lightweight who was miscast into the ring with a heavyweight. You still don't have the muscle for it. Charisma and sensibility aren't a switch to be turned on and off."

"Fair."

"You'll learn," House said reassuringly.

The King fiddled with the pin on one of his sleeves and ran his fingers through his greased hair. "Round two?"

"Round two."

The King nodded and exited through the elevator.

"Jane, arrange for the conference room on the 27th floor to be occupied by guests. Upon the Borgios' arrival to the casino, they will be guided to it and offered refreshments, should they require."

House re-directed his signal to a large terminal that had been placed on the end of the conference table in the Ultra-Luxe. It wasn't long before The King himself arrived to the Gourmand, sitting in the chair closest to Robert's end of the table. Many of the remaining delegates had gone home. This was a sign of failure -- two wars had been exacerbated in one day of diplomacy, and many factions were forced to return to their warfronts. Round two had to be an improvement. The well-being of the wasteland demanded it.

Robert House's face flickered onto the screen of the terminal.

"Please, everyone, take your seats. The next wing of the New Vegas Convention is underway."

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Name: Calvin Lovegrove

Age: 34

Gender: Male

Race:Caucasian

Skills: Outdoorsmanship, Melee Weapons, Speech

Brief physical description or picture: Cal is enormously tall at 6’4” but has a relatively lanky frame, holding a slim figure and minimal amount of body fat. His face is rather handsome, although his rather silly and large pair of glasses along with gigantic bushy eyebrows manage to offset his appearance. His dark brown hair is almost always slicked up by some sort of material (on a good day, it is hair gel).

Clothing/Armor/Weapons: Calvin is usually seen in his dirty, soaked flannel shirt augmented with denim overalls and large boots. He usually sports a goofy, large fisherman’s hat to complete his outfit. As for weapons, he has an arsenal of rusted tridents and fishing spears, along with a rarely-used revolver, intended for desperate situations.

Brief Background: C. Lovegrove sauntered into town just two years ago, but he fit the atmosphere so well that no one even remembers that he was ever not in Far Harbor. He is a silver-tongued man of the sea – he has a relatively kooky array of mannerisms and tends to find humor even in morbid situations. He is generally gone for days, even weeks at a time, on his small fishing boat he calls “The Lorelei” and generally returns empty handed, although occasionally he stumbles upon a big haul.

Cal’s past before Far Harbor is hazy and he refuses to talk about it. However, in the two years he has been there, he has developed plenty of history for himself. He fears for the town’s future to the extent that he never feels safe in its midst – his solitude comes from his journeys at sea. Occasionally, he is forced to venture out into the island to look for fuel, but the fog’s unstoppable conquest has forced him to use other means. When he isn’t out on the water, he can be found in The Last Plank, drinking himself silly and occasionally striking up conversations with the other tenants.

Calvin highly values the longevity of Far Harbor itself as his port in the storm. That said, he is deeply curious about the dark secrets of the island, and if he weren’t so squeamish about running off into the fog, he would explore it for himself. Instead, he is running low on fuel and will be forced to stay in the town’s midst (or at least fish in a very close vicinity) until the crisis is averted.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Lorelei Jones - Behind Ace's Diner

“Given the blood lost. "Steve replied... fighting the urge not just to slap Overcoat and head to the apartment himself “I would say she’s delirious and likely to say and do things against her best interests”

“Fuck her wishes she’s bloody delirious and Bullshit, sure perhaps when you first found her all you could do was help stop the bleeding and patch her up but then you went to Acey's diner, could have easily gone and fetched the doctor... No one forced you have a Milkshake.”

Steve turned back to Overcoat “and who the hell are you calling worthless? You know nothing of what I’ve done , the battles, not some little shootout with raiders but motherfucking warzones I’ve been in.... and people" Steve said pausing for a few seconds "I've seen foolishly die”

Lorelei's steadfast expression dwindled into a slight frown. "Perhaps that is my weakness. I'm not omniscient -- I don't pretend to know what's best for people. I take their personal interests to heart and try to coexist with them." She then shrugged. "I saw enough up there to make a weak stomach hurl their entire day's worth. I needed a breather. And she wanted to be alone.

After a few moments, Lorelei slowly nodded. "You are no use to her if you're off your rocker...but you're right. I know nothing about you. I was not right to judge." She apologetically lowered her head and then looked toward the center of town. "Follow me."

Steve then made his way to the apartment block and drew his pistol “Back in DC apartment blocks like this where crawling with zombies... Fuckers where everywhere and even when you cleared the place out two weeks later you’d still be finding fucking more hiding under the floorboards.”

Lorelei grimaced. "I spent a good deal of time in the Capital Wasteland," she said as she arbitrarily scanned the different buildings. "I learned quickly to steer clear of D.C. and spend my days in the countryside."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Lorelei Jones - Behind Ace's Diner

Steve was oddly silent for an few movement as he just processed what he had heard... before staring at Overcoat with an oddly calm look before speaking... "Let me get this straight... You left an badly injured woman, I assume alone and suffering in an Dark, smelly and cold
apartment block to have a FUCKING MILKSHAKE?" Steve shouted.

Here we go.

“Are you fucking Moron or where you just born stupid.” Steve replied as he began walking up the down nearby an Old newspaper stand box. “this is just same as what happen to Sam “Don’t worry Honey it’s just an flesh wound” well it wasn’t she had internal bleeding and two hours later she was fucking DEAD!”

It's fucking disgraceful that I even involved him in this.

Leaving the diner Steve returned Overcoat with a look in his eyes which pretty much screamed “you are an fucking idiot” to her. “Take me to this woman now, she needs immediate medical help.”

Lorelei rolled her eyes and folded her arms, clearly regretting that she had revealed the truth to a man whose number of brain cells was likely countable on one hand. "You think that the real doctor wasn't the first thing I'd recommended to her? She adamantly refused to see anyone, you twat. She tried to shoot me while I was helping her."

She narrowed her eyes. "She is stable. This isn't my first rodeo. I checked her for signs of complications in the time after I bound her wounds. The good doctor would have been an infinitely better alternative, but that wasn't what she wanted, and I honored her wishes. She wanted to be left alone. I am well aware that such a thing is sub-optimal, but it is out of my control."

Lorelei looked around. "In fact, I am badly breaching her trust by letting a man like you anywhere near her. But for her to be safe from whatever caused this in the first place, folks need to know she's here. She's a stubborn one -- hiding up there alone like that -- but it has to stop. We're a community now. Which is why I'm talking to you."

She pointed toward the pink apartment structure. "You were on the right track. But she is on the third floor. You gave up too early. I'll take you there, should the good doctor be interested in tagging along. You would be worthless to her on your own."

"However...I will not take your whiny ass anywhere until you simmer down. You're only making it worse."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Lorelei Jones - Ace's Diner

“I don’t think he needs a flower-crown,” Brandy looked up at Rook, “He moved things today that we couldn’t think of moving. I think he just needs OUR,” Brandy waved her hand around the diner, “Protection.”

Brandy let her eyes wander around the diner before focusing back on the similarly sized woman, “I’m Brandy Brooks, it is a pleasure to meet you…” she extended her hand.

Lorelei extended her arm and bowed her head. "Lorelei Jones. The pleasure is mine. I am glad that you have seemingly tried your best to make him feel at home. He's done more for the town than any of us so far. I'm sure of that."

After a few moments, Lorelei stood out of the way, allowing her to venture further into the diner, as she could clearly tell that Brandy and Rook had indulged in Ace's Diner for something specific.

She seems nice.

Lorelei smiled at Rook again. "Seems to me like you two are busy, so I'll leave you to it. Next you work on the wall, holler, and I'll see if I can round anyone else up to help."

At that, Lora returned to where Steve was standing at the bar. Despite that he had barely offered her more than a nod this evening -- probably warranted, considering that she had run off on him during their first meeting -- she needed to speak to him. She tapped Steve on the shoulder. She whispered in his ear.

"I need to speak to you in private."

"Sure, Overcoat," Steve replied as he finished off his Nuka-cola dark. "Let's head outside."

Lorelei led Steve to the outside of the diner and behind before finally stopping and turning back to address him. "I heard you last night. In the lower levels of the apartment complex." She paused and folded her arms. "I was there. That 'unicorn' you found? It belongs to the woman living there, who was not in good enough shape to reply to your hollering."

At that, Lorelei paused and pursed her lips, thinking carefully to make sure that she wouldn't put Eliza in a compromising situation. "She is weary of strangers, so do be careful."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Lorelei Jones - Ace's Diner

"As long as you can shoot a gun, that old codger will take on anyone."

Lorelei shrugged. "I can...I can shoot, all right." She ran her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath. "I suppose I should take him up on his offer, then." She gazed at the pie that Ace had set out. "If mutfruit is what made that drink so magical, then I must have more. How much for a slice?"

"Ace, Rook is coming for dinner, do you have enough food for him? I just wanted to let you know, I'm going to go and wait for him to get here. OH, and I have a .22 pistol and aren't afraid to use it if anybody tries to hurt him. You need to look into his eyes, then you will see he really is friendly."

Rook is coming?!

“Rook is here to buy meat. Does Cooker Man have radstag? Or maybe man has found something better? Brahmin meats? Rook has caps and small things to trade, if Cooker Man is open to that as well. Rook is hungry, and building wall takes so much energy.”

Lorelei swung around on her barstool. Her first friend in Salem had made it. "Rook!" Lorelei grinned from ear-to-ear and walked over to the large green man who had entered the building. "I see you've made a few friends! I told you the folks in this town would come around." She looked over at Ace and then back to rook. "I recommended that we craft you a flower-crown to ensure that you mean no harm." "How's the wall coming along?" She offered a gracious nod to Brandy, the woman seemingly accompanying Rook to the diner. "I am glad that you saw him for the big friendly giant that he is."